Zurrus
by Zurrioth
Summary: "He shook his head, opened his mouth in a smile, but his voice could not be found. Lightning flashed in his favor again, causing every golden etching to gleam. At the very crown of the object, a sort of crudely carved 'S' faced Gavin." The story of Raven/Trigon's dark background as experienced through the story of an OC. Reviews appreciated; M for possibly gory parts.
1. I - The Autumn of 1943

Chapter I

_He emerged from eternal fire,_  
_His reign forged from man's fall._  
_He hath taken Eden, His conquest dire,_  
_His lust for power consumeth all._

_Rule of many realms He hath gained,_  
_His essence bringeth naught but wrath._  
_Slaughter of all men, as He reigned,_  
_So beareth he the Mark of Scath._

_The council bound him for his deeds,_  
_Chained and left to fleshly wreak._  
_But by man's will he was freed,_  
_For mortal desire is weak._

_In his return, the bonds were torn,_  
_On mortals his wrath is poured._  
_Hopeless, the children of men mourn,_  
_The reign of Scath is restored._

_The Gem was born of evil saphire,_  
_The Gem shall be his portal._  
_He comes to claim, He comes to sire,_  
_The end of all things mortal._

_~The Prophecy of the Gem_

With a click, the projector whirred to life. The first few seconds began in silence, offering but a blank, pitch black image. The film, in time, cycled to the correct speed. After a moment of black lines flipping horizontally along the projection, a photograph was produced. This photograph lacked colors beyond white, grey, and black, but it still managed a recognizable state. Portrayed within was a view from the open window of a two-story townhouse, a structure similar to those lining the street parallel to it. The scene was primarily focused upon this street, which boasted a mass of individuals performing sorts of celebratory activity - there were the onlookers, waving and cheering at the assembly that paraded through the center of the street; and then the assembly themselves. The attire of these men consisted of a militaristic style, complete with helmets, rifles, and decorated uniforms. The men who led this congregation differed only in means of headgear, as they wore peaked caps that disclosed their superior rank.  
One frame led to two, then three, then five, then ten - then up to at least sixty every second, displaying the illusion of movement. No longer did all present pose as if frozen in movement, but crowd really waved and cheered, and the soldiers actually marched down the street. The men disappearing at one side of the screen were replaced by a continuing trail of soldiers at the other end, all of them progressing in a single direction.  
Simultaneous with the footage, audio sounded from the projector, which produced a drumming, rythmic tune. It was music, and though the quality made it not entirely identifiable as such, it was the best that the technology of the time had to offer. But the most significant element in the audio was that of a young man's voice. The voice delicatley pronounce its words in an innocent, cheerful tone. It began to speak.

"Der stolz von Deutschland ist ihr Militär. Unser Militär ist majestätisch, mächtig und schützende. Unsere Mitarbeiter können versichert sein, die egal welche Kräfte gegen das Vaterland entstehen, die Männer von Deutschland steigt auf den Aufruf."

The view above the street was not the only scene to be presented. Following, was a montage of numerous parades, rallies, and military procedures. But then the scene cut to a man, standing on a balcony, overlooking a fertile range of mountains. He wore a uniquely decorated uniform, one specific for a sort of supreme leader. His most noticeable features were a short, close-cut moustache, and tired, deep-set eyes. This leading man was not alone. He appeared to be communicating with another off-screen, who soon stepped into the picture. This person was dressed similarly - not quite as decorated, but it was obvious he retained some form of second command. The voice began speaking again.

"Unsere tapferen Furhrer führt uns. Er weiß, was das beste für uns, unsere Zukunft, unsere Kinder, unsere Nation ist."

After a scene of a group of children saluting, there played one last shot. It returned to one of the immense rallies that had appeared before, but this time the leading man was present, along with several other officers. All of them stood above the crowds, on a podium outside a government building. There was an array of ornamented flags hanging from this building. A white circle centered in each of them, and within those circles was an unusual black cross. Half of every shaft of this cross was bent at right angles to the left, almost completing a square.

"Unter die weitere kommt einen neuen Tag. Ein neuer Tag, als minderwertige Rennen ist von der Erde zu befreien und die perfekten Menschen bleiben. Aber, um dieser glorreichen Sieg zu erringen, müssen wir alle dienen."

The narrative finished, and the same leading man, who was now standing behind a pulpit of sorts, began to address the multitudes. As he spoke, his tone became increasingly emotional and dominant. It continued to rise, and at the summit of his declaration, his arm reared up and straightened into a salute, and he started to chant.

"Seig Heil!"

The masses resounded the phrase.

"SEIG HEIL!"

"Seig Heil!"

The leading man shouted again.

"SEIG HEIL!"

While the crowds chorused the phrase, the camera panned over the full multitude. Hundreds of souls, all of them entranced into the speech. All of them, saluting the flag.

The Allies had uncovered the propoganda film after the bombing of Koenig Wunterhausen, and both the British and American medias were quick to utilize it in exposing the German Furher as the ruthless dictator that they had painted him to be many times before. The war effort was in full swing, and news like this filled the hearts of many Americans with patriotism for their own nation, and fueled their righteous emnity against Germany. In Filton, Tennessee, this nationalism was impossible to deny.  
It was a simple, typical town almost no different from any other town in the country at the time. Every street corner and telephone pole hosted a display of motivational posters, reminding everyone passing by that "UNCLE SAM WANTS YOU!", "WE CAN DO IT!", and, "UNITED WE ARE STRONG". Fewer and fewer resided in that town, for the majority of able-bodied men had either been drafted or had enlisted on their own.  
Like many of the posters, the frame of Hitler addressing the rally had been printed onto the front page of _The Filton Times_. These papers were likely the best-selling news in the state, because of their rich and detailed description of the events happening on the other side of the Atlantic. But one such edition was bought for another purpose.

The newspaper was soon nailed to a wooden stake. The wooden stake was all that was left of an old shed that once rested in that field, before it deteriated under age. The time was on the verge of evening, but there were no warm, orange rays of sunlight to be seen streaming through the heavy, grey clouds that concealed the sky. The field was deathly quiet. Only the sound of wind weaving through the tall, dead grasses could be spoken of.

Suddenly, a piercing, thunderous noise broke the silence, about forty feet from the newspaper. Joseph Goebbels, who had stood to the far left of the podium on the photograph, suddenly exploded into a flurry of paper shards and wood splinters. Before any of the inanimate, black-and-white figures could respond, there resonated a series of clicks. Then a noise as piercing as the previous broke out again, this time claiming the head of Rudolph Hess. The shots rang out again, and by the time they had finished, Erhard Milch, Erwin Rommel, and Heinrich Himmler were nothing but tears in the paper.

Gavin reached for another round. He had only brought a minimum amount with him, and only two bullets remained. He grabbed one and shoved it into the chamber of his Springfield. It was a fine rifle, and though it was partially abused by its former owner, Gavin had found a way to polish and refine it to shop condition.

Target shooting, drawing, and wood crafting were the only things he ever did in his spare time. He declined from attempting anything new, for he believed in staying with what he was good at, and to do otherwise was a waste of time. Perhaps it was so, for the the only things he did were things he did exceptionally well, and that was good enough for his preference.  
At seventeen, he stood six feet, five inches. He kept his hair cut short, and his facial hair the same length, though his moustache and five o'clock shadow were still visible enough to be the prime features of his complexion. His hair color was brown, and his eyes were distinctly sand blue. Around the edges of the retina, green mixed into the unique color scheme. This was important to Gavin's own regard; to him, his own eyes were the only feature worth considering. Any other details of his appearance, he cared little for. Gavin's common apparel consisted of simple articles; dark brown slacks, leather boots, a collared, short-sleeved beige shirt, with leather suspenders to go over it. Occasionally, he would change the colors he wore, but only to something else equally as drab: sand blue, olive green, dark grey, or black. He cared little for his own appearance, and only for the sole reason that there was no one he was trying to impress. Gavin's personality strongly resembled his attire: he avoided all unnecessary discussions, and either kept to himself or spent time with close friends. Generally, he would skip to the point in a conversation, and let it be done. Time was precious to him.

He slid the bolt-action chamber shut, and steadied the barrel. He laid in the grasses, using only his elbows and shoulder to position the rifle when he aimed. A shot from that short distance was easy for him - but the target was small, making this the equivilent of the 80-foot shots when he used plates and bottles. He closed his left eye, and squinted with his right, allowing an undaunted view of the Furher through the ironsights. He exhaled, grinning, and tightened his finger's grip around the trigger.  
CRACK! The bullet discharged from its shell, and was imbedded into the wooden stand. Not quite where it was intended, but close. It was only half a centimeter from Adolf Hitler's face.  
He studied the target for a moment, then glanced upwards at the clouds overhead. The wind was growing stronger, and had no doubt been the cause of the inaccuracy. But a new sound moved with the wind now, the squealing of bicycle wheels on their axles, simultaneous with crunching noises as they rolled over soil and rock. Gavin tilted his head toward the source of the noise. It echoed from behind.  
As he expected, a boy on his bicycle shifted into view. Through the gaps in the swaying grasses, Gavin could recognize him as his friend's younger brother, Jonathan. There was a gravel path that wove through that field. One end would lead back to Filton, wheras the other branched off of a highway a mile away. Jonathan halted his bike when he had come close enough to Gavin, and called out to him.

"Gavin, we'd better get goin'. Tommy's about to leave."

Jonathan was quiet for a boy of twelve. He had friends, but his only hobby seemed to be "exploring", or, biking along winding trails by himself until he saw something interesting. Usually it was the discovery of a barn, a high hill with a a good climbing tree, or a creek to swim in. Sometimes Thomas and Gavin went with him, but when they did, one or the other became the head of the expedition. Wherever they chose to go was uncomfortably far away or hazardous. They favored deep woods and abandoned buildings. Lately though, both Thomas and Gavin had been preoccupied with finding work, so his adventures through the summer were spent in solitude.

"I got one last shot. Gimme a minute."

Gavin sighed, ejected the former shell, and replaced it with the remaining round. He aimed down the sights again and waited. Both he and Jonathan fell silent, their attention thoroughly engaged on the newspaper. For a moment, Gavin's imagination began to escape from its formerly suppressed state. Staring intently down the barrel, he could almost feel what he and thousands of other young American men had desired to do. Make Hitler pay. Gavin knew he would never personally be granted that chance, but at that moment he felt very close. He exhaled, steadied the rifle further, and squeezed the trigger. The Springfield fired. Hesitantly, he lifted his gaze from behind the ironsights and squinted at the newspaper.

"Damn the wind..."

Gavin sprang up, gathered his rifle and ammuntion, and strode toward Jonathan. His own bike he had rested against a wooden fence post behind him. He carefully placed the items into their specific trestlework on both sides of the bike, of which he had added himself. Jonathan threw a glance toward Gavin to make certain that he was ready to depart. He mounted the bike, nodded to Jonathan, and they peddled back to Filton town.

The station, though they arrived early, was bustling with activity. Already, a sleek, dark green passenger train had arrived, and waited for the recruits to board. Ranks of uniformed men fought through the waves of tear-filled friends and family to eventually form a line in front of each train car. By the time Gavin and Jonathan had dismounted their bikes, the crowd seemed to have doubled. However, this could not keep Jonathan from finding Thomas. With a wave to Gavin, he began charging through the convention, shoving away all who stood in his path. Gavin was unable to see Jonathan, but the way the multitude had split in areas, he managed to uncover his trail. Soon enough, he found Jonathan conversing with a man nearly of his own height and age, garbed in recruit attire.

"Hey man, I finished the helmet." Gavin broke in. He dug into his pocket and removed a small, wooden replica of a standard-issue U.S. Marines 'Steel Pot', no larger than the size of his palm.

"Well, son of a gun..." Thomas took the helmet and examined it, flipping it over and around to study it from all angles.

"The net and leaves were a bit difficult, but I managed to chip it off with the razor. There's a hook on the back lip, so you can hang it from somethin'."

Thomas traced his fingers over two inscribed letters inside the helmet. "Are these... my enitials are on it?"

"Yeah. It's from me and Jonnie. To you."

"Thanks."

"You know... going off to be a war hero." Gavin chuckled. Thomas smiled back, while stowing the gift away in his pack pocket.

"I'm sorry man. It's going to be a long year for ya. Take care of Martha and Susie for me, alright?"

"Alright. I kinda don't, but in some way, I kinda do hate missin' out on the war."

"There ain't nothin' hardly left to miss out on. It's nearly over, and by the time I get outta boot camp, I'll just be shipped home."

"Hmm. Good point. Take care, Tommy."

Abruptly, someone lunged out of the crowds and hugged Thomas from behind.

"Oh, Tommy!" Susan squealed. She leaned her head against Thomas' and began sobbing on his neck. He turned and embraced her, comforting her. No sooner did she arrive than did Dotty and Martha appear.

"The pity party's finally here." Gavin grumbled to himself, backing away.

Dotty embraced Thomas and began crying as well. "Oh, Tommy, I am going to miss you so! God bless you, child..."

By the time she had begun quoting Scripture, the boarding signal was given, and every man in uniform pulled away from the masses and clambered into the train cars. Dotty removed her hankercheif, and she and Susie cried openly on each other's other's shoulders. The reactions of Martha and Jonathan were much alike; a lump in their throats knowing how much they would miss Thomas, but repressed tears knowing that he would likely stay out of harm's reach.  
The train whistle blew, and soon the long, green train lurched foreward. All five of them tarried to watch it fade into a speck in the distance. Ultimately, the crowds dispersed, and as did Dotty, Susan, and Martha to the Gardner family's 1939 Oldsmobile, and Jonathan and Gavin to their bikes.

On the road home, Jonathan followed the Oldsmobile as they drove Susan back to her house. But Gavin chose his own route; a detour that would allow him to purchase more ammunition for his Springfield. Ammo was becoming scarce. By the Autumn of 1943, nearly everything related to firearms were donated to the war effort. Fortunately, farmers in the area were stockpiled with rounds for the Springfield, and though they placed a slightly absurd price on the bullets, they were still worth buying before the military could.  
The grey clouds ceased to restrain the downpour, and all at once there came a drizzle, then rain, and finally, a full storm. With every drop, the path before the wheels of Gavin's bike grew more and more unstable, until there reached a point that the wheels had sunk several inches into the mud. Reluctantly, he gathered his things from off the bicycle, having no other choice but to leave it beached in the mud banks. In the freezing, dense rain, he shouldered his rifle and ammuniton, and commenced the trudge back to the Gardner's house. The bike would have to remain lying on that path until the rain had cleared enough for him to return the next day and repair it. The path was abstract and rarely used, so he remained confident that it would not be stolen.  
Soaking wet and shivering, Gavin arrived at the Gardner's simple home. Night had fallen, and only a few lights glowed from behind the window shutters as he gradually approached the front door. Martha, the only one awake at that time, opened the door and welcomed him in. Without word, he dried his leather boots on a towel that passed as a rug and ambled to his room.

* * *

Notes:

*These "Notes" sections at the end of each chapter will be used for clarifying a few things about the story, explaining why I chose to write something some way and why, and of course, to answer any questions you might have in the reviews. Constructive criticism will be appreciated. Also, if you don't want spoilers, don't read these. Thanks. :)

*Probably most of you are wondering about how any of these unfamiliar settings and characters have to do with TT. Allow me to explain- what I'm trying to do, is give a complete background of Raven's story. I wanted to do this because Raven's background was never deeply explored in the comics, and even less in the TV series. The original story only seemed to scratch the surface of what could be a very interesting universe and plot. But all we ever come to know about it were just a few details. Which is what this story is about - using those foundations to expand on that universe. Therefore, we have to take the plot back long before the Titans come in; before the 21st century. So, I chose a time that would be before the original setting, but would as well be close enough to be relevant. So, I chose the 1940's. Unfortunately, DC had very few characters that both lived in that timeframe and could fit the mood of the story, so a new character had to be created. Thus, I decided to create an OC; Gavin Wintershed Wade. Through the Gavin's story, the story of Trigon, Azar, Arella, and eventually Raven, will be introduced. Just bear through the first six or seven chapters, we'll get there eventually. :/

*About the poem at the beginning of this chapter - you will probably recognize the last four lines as being in the TV series. And thats what it is; however, the rest of it I added to make the prophecy more complete, and more relevant to the story that this fanfiction will cover. Right now there are four extra stanzas, but I may add more later on.

*Please excuse the less-than-exciting writing style that I've used for the first few chapters. It's a bit difficult finding inspiration for the boring parts, but as soon as the story becomes more involved, I will be a bit more motivated, and it will probably improve. :P


	2. II - Prosperous Anticipations

Chapter II

Sunday morning finally overcame the night's storm. The sun's warm rays steadily thickened as they fettered through the windows of the bedrooms, gently awakening each of the Gardners. Except for Gavin, who regularly kept his window shutters sealed. Even without the dawn's glow, he had managed to awake nearly two hours before the rooster.  
Like his father, Gavin was quiet and sober, but seemingly never tired or stressed. And his father, like many other fathers in 1940, had been drafted into the war. He had been stationed in France, and even fought in Operation Market Garden. Morris Wade was reported to have rescued eight captive G.I.s only seconds before the German soldiers attempted to execute them.  
Some people asked for who his father was, and when they did, Gavin would tell them, "My father was a war hero." When they asked how he was doing, he would reply, "He hasn't been bothered since then." When they inquired for when he was brought back to America, he would state, "He came home early. The very week he saved those men." When they begged to see him, he would take them to Brennsbale Church. Just behind the building, there was a serene dirt path that wove through a grove of oaks. He would signal to a strong, aged oak, but say nothing. If they continued to ask him about his father, he would mutter through clenched teeth, "Figure it out." If that person tarried to study the trunk of the tree, he or she would notice a message delicately carved into the bark. At last, they would read aloud,

Morris Wade

1904-1942

Edith Wade

1903-1935

His mother died when Gavin was young. Not at birth, but nevertheless he was too young to understand what had happened to her. After a few years of maturing, he asked Morris, but was still denied an answer.  
Before his father's departure, he had trusted Gavin's welfare to the Gardners, who had been close friends to the Wade family for over two generations. But then the day arrived when he officially became the last Wade in Filton, Tennessee, and he was forced to sell his forefather's property to pay for his education.  
He retained all of the Wade family valueables and momentos. All of which, he stashed in the Gardner's ten-foot by eight-foot guest room, along with the carpentry tools for his business, and the necessary items for living. Being a learned craftsman, he sawed a square hole into the center of wooden floor, fit it for a hatch, cleared out nearly thirty square feet of soil, and with significant time and effort, created a second basement to the Gardner house. Only Thomas was let in on the secret of the hatch. Secret, because undoubtedly, if Dotty were ever to find out, she would give a over-extended lecture on why Gavin was not entitled to re-innovating the floor without permission, and as that second basement was part of her property, she could easily claim the rights to convert it into a third pantry.  
None of the Gardners suspected that Gavin had ever used his saws and chisels on their polished wood floor, because sawing and cutting noises were common sounds, and almost always could be heard resounding from the spare room. Dotty, though irritated by the constant clamour, let it pass. "Carpentry was the Lord's first career." She would remind herself. He carved many things out of wood; it was a talent, a business, a hobby, and bore a hint of an obsession to him.

If one were to walk into Gavin's room, he or she would be overcome with an extravagant display of woodwork. An entirely handmade chess set laid atop a dressing cabinet, rifle stocks and miniature trains rested on multiple shelves, and even a model spitfire dangled from strings tied to the ceiling. Most noticeable was a large workbench that sat next to the single bed in the farthest corner from the door. Saws, technical drawings, and excess wood chips from Gavin's current projects littered its surface. Aside from those things, there lay a beautifully crafted diorama of a Secator combating a Retiarus in glatorial combat. A half-constructed steam engine laid next to it, as well as a second model of a Steel Pot. Whatever space on the walls was not occupied by the shelves, were instead covered by posters of random, abstract objects or scenes, for the purpose of observation so that Gavin could understand the manner that he should chisel the wood blocks. Practically everything that adorned that room he himself had either crafted or modified.  
Hardly anyone who thought they knew Gavin expected this kind of colorful aptitude from someone whose personality was so bleak. For his trade, he crafted more practical things, like tables, chairs, stools, coathangers, hatracks, and the like. But occasionally, he would create something truly special. Every month, he had one or two model locomotives built and painted to sell to a family with young children, or a historic diorama to appease those with taste for antique decor. The scenes could often be marketed for a high sum, but they were tedious to create, and could even take a quarter of a year until they were finished. And there would also arise the problem that when finished, Gavin sometimes became too proud of his work to consider selling it.

So it was that morning, when Gavin was resuming his tasks with the sabre saw, that the Gardners began to awake and prepare to attend church. Dotty, as could well be expected, was making breakfast with Martha's assistance. Jonathan was likely to be found running from one end of the lawn to the other, entertaining the Gardner's pet bloodhound, Sniffer. On a typical morning, Thomas would have awoken as early as Gavin, and would be in the guest room, helping plan the week's project. On an even more typical morning, William Gardner, the father of the family, would sit in the polished, leather chair in front of the television. He would recline calmly, lighting his cigar and calling out to Dotty about whatever it was he found interesting while reading the Filton Times. Ever since William had been drafted, the chair had become a sort of relic, and Dotty disallowed hand nor stain to touch it.  
Although the house lacked two members now, the remaining Gardners managed to go through the morning routines properly and without error. In record time, a breakfast of biscuits, bacon, blueberries and milk was on the round, wooden table in the dining room.  
Martha circled the table, arranging the plates and silverware."My, such a lovely morning we've awoken to." she commented, as if quoting a line she had heard on the radio.  
"Yes, and a lovely morning for a lovely breakfast, at that too." Dotty replied. "Dearie, why don't you go and call for your brother, I'll handle the table and fetch Gavin."  
Dotty trotted out of the dining room, down the hallway, and stopped before the guest room's door. A sign hung from a nail by a single thread of twine. Like so many things that had been produced in that room, the sign was masterfully carved.  
"GARDNER & WADE CO."  
During the summer, Thomas and Gavin would hang that sign outside a shed that stood beside the house on the Gardner's property, and that building became their craft shop. But when winter came close at hand, the models would be cleared out, the sign taken down, and the space used as food storage.  
Dotty knocked on the door. "Gavin! Breakfast is ready!"  
The sawing noises ceased, and in its place remained sheer silence.  
"Your biscuit is getting cold, would you rather me give it to Sniffer?"  
In reply, a series of clicks echoed from behind the door as Gavin slowly slid the bolt locks and chain locks open to at last open the door. He stepped out, and though fully dressed, held exhaustion in all of his features.  
"Good heavens, Gavin, you look winded! Shower, after breakfast, would you?"  
The "Shower", for the men in that house, due to recent irrigation problems, was replaced by a spicket and a hose that jutted out of the brick wall behind the house. After being caught in the previous night's downpour, Gavin had decided that was a shower in itself. He ignored Dotty's pestering and followed her back down the hall.  
With a creak, the front door swung open, and in came Jonathan, who beckoned to something outside.  
"C'mon, Sniffer! Here, boy!"  
"Take him to the pantry, would you, Jonnie?" Martha stated. "Oh, and make sure you keep him out of the ham - find a place on the shelves for it."  
With Sniffer lagging behind, sniffing the ground as he was known for, Jonathan led him down a flight of stairs into the basement. With Dotty's and Jonathan's return, the four seated themselves at the table. But Gavin's attention was elsewhere. He held out the engine of one of his model trains and examined it for any faults. It was nearly finished, lacking only details on the smokestack and wheels. He flipped it and twisted it around in his fingers, studying it from all angles. Dotty scowled and remarked,  
"Gavin, what have I told you about bringing those toys to the table? You're honestly much to old for-"  
"It's not a toy." Gavin snapped, without adverting his attention from the train. "Model."  
"Whatever it is that you would like to call it. The Wade family breakfasts may have been different, but here we keep food and silverware sacred to the table, and other things, elsewhere."  
Gavin frowned, said nothing, and laid it on a cabinet nearby. Martha, in an attempt to resettle the morning, asked Gavin, "So, is what you and Thomas had been working on all this week? Is it for the boy of the family that lives by the post office?"  
"Yeah." He mumbled. "Pete Jr. really likes those trains. And as long as Mr. and Mrs. Roberts like buying them for him, I'm satisfied with making them."  
"Jonnie, why don't you ask the blessing for us?" Dotty interjected.  
Jonathan folded his hands together, closed his eyes, bowed his head, and spoke as innocently as expected from his appearance.  
"Lord, thank ya for giving us this food, and a new day, and please keep Tommy and Pap safe from the war so they can come home, so we can be a family again. And Lord, I pray that you'd put your word in Pastor Longden's tongue as he preaches today. Also, keep Sniffer out of the ham, you know how he is when he's down in the pantry on Sunday mornin'."  
A chorus of "Amen" and restrained chuckles followed, and the Gardners began their breakfast.  
"Say, Gavin. Didn't see you're bike out there. Where's it at?" Jonathan asked Gavin, after finishing half his meal.  
"Got stuck in the mud on the path near Vincent's, so I had to ditch it. I got the rifle and everything off and back here, though. Gonna go get it after service."  
"Well, you'd ought to go find it soon." Martha cut in. "You know how Ben Dalton and his boys been tryin' to steal that gun of yours. If he sees that bike, he'll know for sure its yours."  
"If he steals it, I'm gonna lick him." Gavin replied flatly. Dotty, attempting to keep the conversation at the table pleasant and scarce, stated, "Now, let's save that kind of talk for another time-"  
Gavin continued as if she had never spoken. "I'm gonna lick him next time I see him anyway. Did Tommy tell you about when he caught him messing around in the shed? No doubt in my mind that he was after the Enfield."  
"How you gonna find him? What if he or one of his friends cheats and pulls a knife on you?" Out of curiosity, Jonathan began to flood him with questions. Gavin was just as quick to answer.  
"I know where he goes - down by the mill, but on the other side of the river. Wouldn't be the first time he did, if he does."  
"Boys, boys!" Dotty raised her voiced and noted, "No talk like that at this table, especially on Sunday. I don't know what it is between you and Ben, but you'd better work it out. The Daltons are a very respectable family, and no sense in disturbing them over some childish quarrel."  
Gavin clenched his jaw and thought to himself, "When he's on the ground an bleeding, that's when it will be worked out."

The remainder of the morning passed like it always had before Tommy's departure. Everyone except Gavin cleaned themselves and dressed for the church service, and at 8:30 they were all in the Oldsmobile and on their way to Brennsbale. It unnerved Gavin that he had to leave the Springfield at the house unguarded, so he stashed it under the hatch in the guest room and locked the doors.  
"Don't worry." Jonathan reassured Gavin. "Sniffer will protect it."  
Gavin rolled his eyes under his brow and grinned sarcastically. "Right."

Brennsbale was what was considered to be "old fashioned" - even for that day in 1943. It had been in Filton as long as anyone could remember, and was thought to be the first building ever built for that town. However, the church had been well maintained, and was attended weekly by the majority of the civilians living in Filton. The pastor, Dr. Longden, seemed to be equally as old-fashioned. Each sermon was different, but practically had the same message. He would stand behind the pulpit and preach about sins, the Devil, and the fire and brimstone of Hell during the first half, leaving the remainder to focus on the need for forgivness, Jesus, and the gates of Heaven. Yet the congregation loved old Dr. Longden, especially for his short stories that he slipped into the middle of his speeches, about events that happened recently in Filton, which somehow related to certain accounts in the Bible.  
The Gardner family was one of the earliest arrivals, and after a greeting from Dr. Longden, would typically seat themselves in the farthest front pew to the left. From 8:45 to 10:45, the four of them would sit in silence and ponder the words of the pastor. Gavin and Jonathan were seldom entertained during this period, so their attention naturally focused on the small, unimportant details that speckled the interior of Brennsbale Church. They would observe the edge of a wall where the paint had chipped to form a strange shape, or at the multi-colored light that was cast from the stain-glass windows onto the wooden plank floor.  
After distinguishing a bird in the chipped paint, and counting the wooden planks, the sermon eventually ended with a hymn and a prayer for the U.S. soldiers, and the congregation was quietly dissmissed. Most of the attendees tarried in the sanctuary for a session of meeting and discussion, leaving Gavin to be the first and only to exit the building in a hurry.  
Along with his Bible, he had brought his sketchpad. He knew the others would stay inside for a long while, to long to simply wait for and stand idle. He found a bench under the shadow of an oak tree beside the church, sat down, and reviewed his sketches. Most were of wood parts that he planned to carve for current projects, but some were merely drawn for enjoyment. There were a few sketches of the church itself, as well as the dirt path behind it, and several sketches of the Gardner house and the former Wade house. As he studied these, he remembered how much he used to enjoy drawing detailed scenery. But no matter how beautiful they were, they still lacked something - the quality of life.  
To draw a human? That was much different than the artistry of anything else. He refrained from trying before, merely because he would feel ashamed if he failed to make one accurately. But at that moment, on that quiet morning, something inside him demanded that he should try. In his mind's eye, and image reoccured clearly of what he should draw, and how it should be drawn.  
He removed a pencil from his pocket and began forming the chin. The jawbones followed, and after shaping the forehead, already a face seemed to appear. But, no, that was not how a woman's jaw was set. After a moment of re-adjusting the jaw closer to perfection, he added the outline of the hair, and began drawing the lips. "Maybe a smile - not too much, just slightly. And careful on the eyebrows. Keep the nose thin, and try not to detail it too much." The inspiration directed him. By the time he got to the eyes, it was quite distinguishable as a face. The only thing it lacked were shadows on the cheekbones and eyebrows.  
Just as Gavin completed the eyes, something sharp grazed the side of his forehead. A stone, only slightly smaller than the size of a man's palm, fell to the ground before him. From the spot on his head that it had collided with, he felt the warmth of a liquid trickle down around to his eyebrow. He needed not look up to recognize the identity of the stone's hurler, but he did. Benjamin Dalton stood not but twenty feet from him.  
Benjamin leaned on a familiar object - Gavin's bicycle. He squinted at the figure on the bench and smirked. He had not come alone - several young men of the same age stood around Gavin. Most of them were bystanders that tagged along with him in hopes of witnessing something exciting, but there were at least two that had affiliation with Ben.  
Benjamin was only a few months younger than Gavin, though nearly as tall. He was stockier than most, an attribute which he relied on to gain the little respect that he had. It was apparent to most that he was not quite as mature as he looked. Ever since childhood, he was fond of conjuring up trouble, stealing, and fighting. He became immersed in challenging every boy his age in Filton to fight him. He lost a few fights, but won most of them. The only person that Ben had not fought was Gavin, who refused to give him the luxury. Ben tried stealing from him to spark physical conflict, but Gavin was hardly seen without his rifle, thus causing a forced fight to be difficult to stage. But now he observed Gavin well away from his Springfield, and to his fortune, he had also found the bike to use as bait.  
"Hey, Gavin. Want your bike back?" Ben taunted.  
Gavin said nothing in return. He laid his sketchpad on the bench, then weighed it down by placing the Bible on top of it. He stood up, and began pacing toward Ben.  
"You gonna fight this time? Or are you just going to leave?"  
He approached Ben and stared down at him.  
"You son of a bitch." Gavin muttered.  
"So, ya decided to talk shit instead of-" Ben's question was cut short. Without warning, Gavin sent his right fist flying towards Ben's face. Ben caught the blow with his right hand, but was unsuspecting when Gavin struck him in the stomach with his left. Ben stepped back and reassessed a fighting posture, then bent his head downward and began throwing punches at Gavin in rapid succession. Most of the blows struck Gavin hard in the ribs and upper chest, and though caught off guard by this move, was not knocked off his feet yet. Withdrawing from Ben, he caught both of his fists in his hands, then quickly crossed Ben's arms over each other. Ben tried to reclaim his hands, but was unable to before Gavin used his uppermost arm and shoved it towards him, elbowing him in the left side of his skull. Suddenly, Ben yelled and violently pushed Gavin's arms out of his path. In one swift move, he grabbed him by his suspenders and threw him to the ground. Before Ben had a chance to pin him down, Gavin propelled both of his feet, kicking simultaneously at his chest, sending him sprawling back to the ground as well. The two figures found their feet again and stood. Slowly, Ben reached into his pocket and removed a small, gleaming metal object. Gavin merely stood and grimaced at his move.  
"Felt pretty high and mighty when you always had your gun, didn't you? Well, guess how I feel, right now." Ben growled.  
His reply was met with silence. But to the onlooker's surprise, Gavin whipped his arm out from his side and flung a stone at Ben, striking him squarely in the eye. He shrieked, dropped the knife, and clutched his bleeding face.  
"Agh! The hell-"  
Gavin spent no time in hesitation. He charged at Ben and collided with him, sending them both sprawling back down to the ground. Ben blindly groped for the knife, but the heel of Gavin's boot stomped down on his wrist. Ben let out another cry of agony, but it was soon muffled. Gavin crouched over him, and with unspeakable speed, struck the eye that had not yet been blackened again and again.  
"Stop! I'm done!" Ben spat out. The bystanders snapped out of their awestruck state and restrained Gavin from striking the half-conscious lad. Ben opened his eyes as best he could and broke into a bloody grin. "Yer faster than ya look, Gavin. How about joinin' me and my boys-"  
Gavin wrestled free of those holding him and pounced back onto Ben. With one hand, he held his jaw in place, and with the other, used all of his remaining strength to punch the direct center of Ben's face, breaking his nose, and rendering him unconscious. Undoubtedly, shutting him up for quite some time. Gavin stood, and without eye contact to the others, hobbled to his bike and checked over it to make sure that nothing had been damaged.  
"Dang, yer a purty good throw with a rock." One of Ben's friends commented to Gavin. "Ya reckon you can hit the cross of that there steeple?"  
Gavin ignored them as a second replied, "No, he can't - nobody can, 'cause that throw he done on Benjamin ain't without a miracle, and God ain't gonna make no rocks hit ol' Brennsbale steeple."  
"What if he got that throwin' arm from hankerin' with the devil? The first responded.  
"Well, if that been so, still ain't no rocks gonna hit a steeple nohow. God ain't let no devil do that."  
As the two argued and dragged away their leading figure, four of the bystanders approached Gavin.  
"We ain't never seen no one take down Benjamin Dalton that fast before. Usually he gets 'em down when he starts going for the ribs like he done on you. You know how tough you gotta be to stand against that?"  
The young man speaking to Gavin outstretched his hand.  
"Sir, I'd like to shake hands with ya."  
So he and Gavin shook hands. He about average height for his age, or maybe a little less. His hair on his head and sideburns was a dusty blonde color, and he seemed to be squinting one of his eyes. He and his company appeared as if they had come from the highland Appalachian area, with denim overalls and well-worn collared shirts. "But neither of us fought fair." Gavin grumbled, regretfully.  
"Not too many fights with Ben are fair. Likes to spice up his tussles with somethin' sly. Wants to see what you'd do. I s'ppose you gave it to him by his rules. Oh, and name's Billy McKyle. These here are my two companions, Percy-Lee Hafton and Jonas Barnum. Percy-Lee's last name is Hafton 'cause he's half-Dalton. His pappy was a Hafford, but his ma was a Dalton. But see, he turn out lookin' more like a Dalton than a Hafford. So we couldn't call him a Hafford, cause he sure don't look like one, but we couldn't call him a Dalton either because his pappy's name was Hafford. Gotta respect yer pappy's name I guess, can't get rid of it fer good - so he goes by Hafton. He's Benjamin's step-cousin, I think. Yer his cousin, that's what ya said, right Percy?"  
Percy-Lee had slightly darker brown hair and was taller than Billy, and even an inch taller than Gavin. He was a lean man, who, like Gavin, wore suspenders, slacks, and a collared t-shirt. Percy squinted and counted his fingers.  
"Lemme see... My ma was sister of Benjamin's father's half-brother - think so."  
Billy continued with his introductory monologue. "And Jonas here re-name himself too. He never like to say why though."  
Jonas tipped his cap to Gavin. He was a black man, and taller than Billy, but shorter than Gavin.  
"Nice to meet you." Gavin replied as he dabbed his forehead with a rag from his pocket. "I'm Gavin. Full name's Gavin Wintershed Wade. Wintershed was just a middle name I gave myself for no reason, but most just call me Gavin Wade or Gavin."  
"Hey, Gavin." Jonas, Percy, and another individual that stood next to them said, far from in unision.  
"Who are you?" Gavin gestured to the person. He was a black-haired boy, equal in height with Jonas, but had facial features that resembled Gavin.  
"Oh, that there's Trevor. He's new to our group. He came from up North lookin' for a job. Lucky for him he came across us."  
Trevor chuckled and announced his tidings. "Trevor Davis Smithey. Nice to know ya, mister Wade."  
Gavin wiped the remaining blood off of his arms and legs. "So, what kind of business are you doing?"  
"Loggin'." Billy declared. "See, we're livin' in a land o' milk and honey. The workin' men go off to fight the Nazi bastards, while a handful of Rosie the Riveters try and take on man's jobs - like logging. But it takes a real man to do a real man job, and lucky fer us misfit toys, we ain't got drafted. So we got one heck of an opportunity to get filthy rich."  
He glanced up at Billy and his crowd, confused. "How'd you not get drafted?" Gavin asked.  
"A few miraculous defects." Billy chuckled. "Percy here got his jaw knocked outta place while he went fishin' in the Gulf o' Mexico. The doctors fixed it back, but it still come detatched on one side every now and then."  
Percy took his hand and shifted his jaw to demonstrate what Billy was explaining.  
"Me? Don't take me cause I'm blind in one eye. Can't tell, but my left eye's useless." Billy pointed to his eye, and then after a moment emphasis, he pointed to Trevor.  
"And Trevor here's a few months too young to get drafted."  
"Same here." Gavin admitted. He then walked over to Jonas and asked him, "What's the matter with you? I don't see anything wrong."  
Jonas began to laugh. "They doesn't take me 'cause I'm a 'nigger'."  
Gavin scowled, once again becoming perplexed. "They take colored men, what do you mean?"  
"My uncle Minoe seen the war b'tween the states wi' him own eyes. Say there ain't no use in black man fightin' white man's wars, nothin' good come out of 'em. But some darkies still do 'cause in them hearts they's still slaves. And us Barnums is always been free negroes, e'er since sixty-eight, and we sure ain't-a goin' back."  
Jonas' words stung Gavin more than the scrapes across his arms. For a brief moment, any guilty feelings of self-cowardice concerning his lack of interest in joining the war were swept away by this addition to his logic. Maybe Jonas was onto something. Before he could become to distracted, he reverted back to the conversation.  
"So, you said you're loggers?"  
"Yeah. Got work from a private company owned by a man named Gregory Dylan. Maybe ya heard of him, maybe ya ain't. But see, he got his own island. El Tasu, its called. It's a purty big island, but there ain't nothin' on it but trees, trees, and more trees. So he's hirin' us to chop it all down for him. Says we'll get in sixty dollars a month!"  
Gavin mounted his bike and considered what Billy had told him.  
"Sixty dollars? A month?"  
"Yep. Why, you think yer interested?"  
"Definately."  
A skeptical look crossed over Billy's countenance.  
"So, then how much do ya know about loggin'?"  
"I was part of a logging crew last year. But I mostly had to handle the machinery, not the axes."  
"Machinery?" Billy's eyes grew wide. "You know how to operate loggin' equipment?"  
"Yeah. My dad taught me when I was young. But I eventually got better engineering knowledge from school."  
"You hear that, Percy? He went to school! He's a loggin' expert!" Billy hollered to Percy. Gavin resumed his explanation.  
"Actually, I took a few classes in carpentry, but I guess that's close enough."  
"Yer in!" Billy exclamed in excitement. He was not a difficult man to impress.  
Billy listed all of the details on the location and the time appointed. The bystanders had by this moment dispersed, Ben included, leaving Billy, Percy, Jonas, and Trevor to their path home, and Gavin to his. He peddled over to the bench under the oak and collected his Bible and sketchbook. The trip back the Gardner's house was travelled alone.

* * *

Notes:

*As irrelevant to anything in TT as this may seem, there are two reasons that this chapter is important. Firstly, it begins the chain of events that will cause Gavin's story to intertwine with the Trigon/Raven story. Secondly, since Gavin is our main character throughout this entire fanfic, it is important to understand his background and state of mind that he will have with him later on, and how those things will be effected.

*One of the most challenging parts of writing these first few chapters, is writing the setting so that it feels like the 1940s. Specifically, Fall 1943 in Filton, Tennessee. (By the way, "Filton" is a fictional town, like "Jump City") For Gavin to become more real to you readers, his background has to be detailed and relatable.


	3. III - El Tasu

Chapter III

"Where's my brush hook?" Gavin's inquiry echoed through the rooms of the Gardner house. He exited the guest room, rifle and tools under one arm, and a long, thin case under the other. He stormed through the hallway and to the dining room, glancing around for any other necessary travel item to collect.  
"Have ya checked the shed?" Jonathan's voice replied. From the corner of the room, he watched Gavin go about in his search. "Last time I saw it, Tommy was using it in there."  
"Yeah, think it is..." He set his supplies down on the dining room table and made for the door, until he was cut off by Dotty.  
"My, Gavin, what on earth are you up to?"  
"Got a new job last week." He hastily explained. He shoved past her and continued to rush outside.  
Gavin ran through the grasses beside the house until he came upon the shed. Strangely, when he arrived, one of the doors was partially cracked open. Ever since summer, the shed had hardly been touched - this was a clear sign of tresspass. As he expected, he found no one when he peered inside. Very little damage had been done. Or, could have been done. Besides the padlock, a ladder, and a few cans of paint, nothing was broken. On the wall opposite him, large blue letters painted onto the wooden wall that read, "IM GONNA GET YOU BACK, WADE". But he was too much in a hurry to even be disturbed by the mild carnage. There, on the floor, lay the utensil that had been used to crush the ladder. Gavin picked it up, and weighed it in his hands.

The shaft of the brush hook had been carved by Gavin himself. As many things that he produced, "GARDNER & WADE" was inscribed into the wood. The side opposite the blade on the hook was positioned horizontally to the end of the wood shaft. The hook itself wound up and back over the end of the shaft. The axe was light in his grip, yet struck hard when it chopped wood. It was the best kind of brush hook for any kind of use, but one rare to come by.  
He rushed back into the house as fast as he came to the shed, this time axe in hand. As soon as he arrived, Dotty began to pepper him with questions.  
"A new job? Why, that's wonderful! You will be working nearby, won't you?"  
Gavin set the brush hook down alongside the rifle and immediately began to arrange his things in a rucksack.  
"Nearby as in state borders or nearby as in country borders?" He snapped back.  
"I mean, near Filton." She crossed her arms in irritation.  
"Does 'El Tasu' sound like it's in Tennessee?"  
"Well, whatever job this is, it can't be worth traveling out-of-state for."  
"Unless I'm paid, maybe, sixty a month?"  
"That much? Tell me, for what?"  
"Logging on an island south of the Louisiana delta, where the Mississippi empties off. Five-men in the crew."  
"My, how long will you be gone?"  
"Maybe half a year, or a whole, or two. Whenever the war ends, and that for more than one reason."  
"Two years? Who do expect to be the one to bring in the money while you're gone?"  
Gavin gestured to Jonathan, who stood idley at the far end of the room.  
"Jonathan's man of the family now. Jonnie, you're the family man."  
Jonathan nodded in recognition without a hint of surprise on his features. But Dotty gasped, astonished at this proposal.  
"My Jonnie? Bringing in the money? Why, he's hardly-"  
"Thirteen's not a bad age for- Jonnie, you're what, thirteen, right?"  
"In two weeks, yeah." He replied, nodding again.  
"See, close enough. That's about around when Tommy and I started. Besides, he knows how to hew, saw, and carve good and well."  
"For goodness sakes, Gavin, he's still in school!"  
Ignoring Dotty, Gavin continued. "Jonnie, I got every finished project in a box beside the desk. All the unfinished ones are in the bin by the door. You know where to find the tools."  
He finished saddling the implements in their proper places on the rucksack and turned to Jonathan.  
"Oh, Ben paid a visit to the shed. Didn't have a chance to do much, but might want to think about painting over the walls again and getting a better lock."  
Martha entered, carrying Gavin's olive green U.S. Airborne coat. Formerly, it had belonged to Morris, and after his body had been shipped back to the states, Gavin inherited it, and like the brush hook and the rifle, it became an item he was sincerely fond of.  
"Ben, again?" Martha groaned. She raised the coat up by "Doesn't he know any discipline?"  
"Discipline? I gave him some of that last week, but apparently he's asked for more." Gavin slipped his arms through the sleeves of the coat and adjusted it to his figure. "I left Tommy's fireaxe on my desk, if he comes back." He heaved the rucksack onto his back. Thanking Martha, he walked back outside, found the seat of his bike, and quickly vanished out of view. Dotty, watching his departure from the porch of the Gardner house, leaned her hands on her hips and sighed, "There's no more Wades in Filton, I suppose."  
Jonathan joined her, with the case of Thomas's fireaxe under his arm. "When is he gonna be back?"  
"Don't rightly know if he will come back at all. Always knew we'd see him leave, but does the heart good to know he's not going off to war. A couple years from now, he'll be a grown man, and have no reason to come back."

The road to the rendezvous point along the upper Mississippi had proved to be a short one. As promised, Gavin arrived in time at the dock for Billy to fill him in on the extra details of the logging operation. Before boarding the ferries that had been stationed in the river, each one of them was directed through an authorization interview with the private owner of the island, Gregory Dylan.

"Mr. Wade, now, do you have anything to offer me?"

Mr. Dylan leaned back onto a docking mast, puffing out a cloud of smoke from his cigar. Mr. Dylan was an older man, at least in his mid sixties. He seldom was seen without his black cane; a convenient compliment for his stern features, business attitude, and elderly nature. Gavin dug through his rucksack and removed his degrees and recommendations. He handed them to Mr. Dylan, who took them with interest.

"Carpentry, engineering, technical drafting..."

He clenched his cigar between his teeth and cycled through the various pages.

"Father was... Morris Wade... Hm. I believe I've head the name of your father. He was asked to become employed in my lumber company in recent years. Unfortunate what happened."

Mr. Dylan puffed out again and shook his head.

"I trust he's taught you a thing or two. Sign these."

He handed the papers back, along with a contract. Gavin remained silent, but filled in the name spaces quickly.

"It seems that you have the most experience among the others- not formally, but in the account of education. Mr. Wade, I want you to lead the logging company on the island. Mr. Smithey has knowledge of geographical coordination and landscaping. Leave those things to him. But I trust that you are capable of having the crew bring in 60,000 pounds of timber by the end of each month."

Gavin nodded, taken back slightly that he had been chosen for that position.

"But Mr. Dylan-" He began to stammer. "-I've... had hardly any in-hand experience, some, but not much."

"Don't worry son. Any fool could fell a tree. Takes a bit more thought and skill to have these kinds of recommendations."

Once received, Mr. Dylan brought the stamp down on the contract, approving Gavin's employment. The crew of five boarded the ferry, and by six in the afternoon, they were riding down through Alabama. Billy and Gavin stood on the front deck of the boat, taking in the surroundings before they were past.

"El Tasu?" Billy asked, rhetorically. "You got any idea what that means, Mr. Smithey?"

Trevor joined them on the deck. "El, well, that's obviously Spanish for 'the'. 'Tasu', I don't know, I guess it's something indian."

"Injun? Percy knows injun. Percy, don't ya know Injun?" Billy called out. Percy followed the voice out onto the front deck.

"I know a little Injun." he explained. "But that ain't one of their words."

"First time that you've been out-of-state, Wade?" Trevor asked Gavin.

Leaning over the rail above the river on the front deck, he replied, "Yeah. Never imagined Alabama like this. I guess I thought the whole south looked like Filton."

"You should see Vermont. Or New York. They're a lot different."

"That where you're from?"

"Yeah. At least I was born there. Most of my life, I've had to move from state-to-state. When the war started, my mom takes me back to Filton to stay with her side of the family."

He sighed, studying the water that rippled against the ferry's bow.

"It's hard meeting people, then moving on and never seeing them again, but hey, y'know... People come, people go."

"Your father been drafted?"

"Nah. He's a ship builder in Manhattan. Gets to weld destroyer and submarine parts for the navy. What about yours?"

"Drafted. Trained, shipped off to France, killed some Krauts, got his purple heart, then died."

Trevor's expression managed to cover most of his surprise as he continued.

"Mm. Sorry, man... My brother, Lawrence, he got sent across the Pacific to earn his stars in Jap-Land. Haven't heard much from him, especially since we've been moving around."

"Trevor?" Gavin looked at him. "Ever feel like, well, we're missing out on something? Think about it: when everybody comes home, we're just gonna disappear. And you can't say they don't deserve their appreciation - but there won't be any left for us. Because we won't have any stories to tell, no badges to show, or any say in the great scheme of things. Part of me feels like a coward for staying out of it all, but another part of me knows it's common sense that the risk isn't worth taking."

Trevor pondered this for a moment. "Not really... Guess I never thought about it that way. I always, you know, sorta thought everything would just go back to how it was. Sounds right though. Maybe we are gonna be left out, but at least we'll still be rich."

"Is that what you came with us for? Or was it a way to get out of being drafted? As for me... I think it was both."

"Yeah, yeah I guess maybe it is. That's probably true for Billy, over there."

"What about him?" Gavin asked.

Tapping his left eyelid, Trevor explained. "I don't think his eye's blind. I think he just lied because he's running scared, too. So, you know, we can't be the only ones."

Gavin nodded slowly and returned to watching the passing river underneath.

The next few days cycled through either idle waiting or hurried tasks. It took a day or two more to pass through Alabama, and another three to get below Mississippi to Louisiana. In each state, the ferry stopped to let its passengers lay foot on land and gather much needed supplies for a short period before it made sail again. The final port was the most difficult, as the crew had to transport all of the materials brought in the ferry to a barge owned by Mr. Dylan's company. There, they were also given heavy machinery and the chance to purchase any basic supplies before the trip to the island began. But only a day passed before the crew, tired and sweating, had everything off the ferry and onto the barge.  
The ride from the delta to the island was a relief to the crew, who had greatly anticipated sleeping on land again after a week in the ferry. Jonas, most of all, because he became more and more uncomfortable with the residents along the Mississippi the farther they travelled south.

"Where are we gonna set up camp?" Percy asked, addressing no one in particular; yet voicing the thought on everyone's mind.  
The small, metal trestlework barge anchored onto the soil. El Tasu was not immense, but nearly every foot of it was covered in timber waiting to be felled. Being so close to the mainland, the plant life was not too tropical. Pine trees and bushes coated the island in a rich, dark green appearance against the orange glow of the sunlit horizon. There were signs of previous attempts at leveling the island. Clusters of stumps and logs speckled the edges of the island.

"First things first, let's get the equipment off the barge." Gavin stated. "Then we worry about camp."

"No need." replied Trevor, who unfurled a map of the island. "We just follow this trail, see, and we'll come to a clearing in the northeast that's on high ground and good for pitching the tents."

"Alright. C'mon, let's get the tractor off." The crew jumped off, pushed the barge further, and lowered the boarding ramp.

They removed everything from the barge, and followed the directions that Trevor cited from the map to find the clearing. Unpacking was quickly finished, and soon enough three tents formed a cirle around a campfire. Gavin and Percy had one, Jonas and Trevor had the next, and Billy had the last all to himself and the crew's supplies and tools. The color of the sky had faded as soon as the camp was set. They all agreed that Trevor had found a decent place. No mosquitos, no wind, and a wall of pines braced the edges of the clearing. Standing in the center and looking up was almost as if looking through a tube, into the kaleidoscope that was the night sky. But this tube soon had smoke billowing through it.

"Yeah! Whoo! Told ya I could get a fire goin' without matches!" Hands trembling, Billy set the stick down on the pile of pine needles. The spark that had grown into a flame engulfed the campfire logs, creating a decent, warm campfire. The rest of the crew crawled out of their tents to warm themselves.

Grinning and rubbing his hands together, Trevor declared, "Hey, now - we can't just go on to bed without supper! Where's the food?"

A chorus of agreement followed, and Billy went to his tent to fetch some cans of peas, potatoes, and pork. The meat was shoved onto a spit as hastily as it was cooked and eaten. The fresh water was rationed and half a pint was issued to each of them.

"I know it ain't whiskey, but I still say we drink to somethin'." Billy exclaimed. "Here's to God, our guys in the Pacific, the Hell that awaits Hitler, and well-earned cash!"

The five tankards knocked together and departed each to their holder. Their thirst drained the cups in record time.

"Well, I'm gonna get some sleep." Gavin yawned, tossing his empty tankard to Billy.

"C'mon, ain't you gonna stick around to hear Jonas play on his guitar?" Billy complained. On cue, Jonas took a guitar out from behind the log he sat on, positioned it, and began to play. His fingers ran up and down the strings of the instrument, plucking each in the pattern that would pronounce the tunes of Rose of Alabama. Billy and Percy joined in with their voices and synced to the notes in perfect unision, as if singing was part of a routine. Gavin smiled, returned to his place at the campfire, and clapped along.

Most of the nights for the next four weeks ended as this one had. After many tiresome days of felling trees, uprooting stumps, and hauling them to the barge, there was nothing more rewarding than a drink and a song. But at the end of the month, the ultimate reward was given. The goal of 60,000 pounds of timber was reached and after it was shipped back to the company on the mainland, a $60 profit was granted to each of them.  
So the last day of October called for a special kind of celebration. Having not sung along in any of the songs, the crew urged Gavin to lead.

"Hey, Mr. Wade, my voice's gettin' tired. Why don't you sing one for us?" Billy said, pretending to cough.

"Yeah man, you haven't sung all month!" Trevor chimed in.

"Heh, I don't really- sing..." stammered Gavin.

"C'mon now, just this once."

"Ah, you know, I guess I will." He sighed and cleared his throat.

"How about, "Minstrel Boys"? stated Percy, taking the guitar from Jonas. Looking foreward, Gavin inhaled, waiting for the tune to reach his cue. Then he began, unsteady at first, but quickly finding the pitch and singing masterfully.

"...The minstrel boy, to the war is gone, in the ranks of death you'll find him..."

Gavin stood up and clasped his hands together in pattern with the rhythm, beckoning the others to join in.

"His father's sword he hath girded on, and his wild harp, slung behind him. 'Land of Song', said the warrior's bard, 'Though all the world betrays thee-"

Trevor had been well moved by the song, and did not hesitate to join in.

"One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard, one faithful harp shall praise thee!"

Percy filled the intermission by plucking the strings in perfect tune with the song. After a moment, Gavin breathed in again, this time with Trevor and Jonas volunteering their voices as well.

"The minstrel fell! But the foeman's chain could not bring his proud soul under. The harp he loved ne'er spoke again, for he tore its chords asunder, and said 'No chains shall sully thee, thou soul of love and bravery! Thy songs were made for the pure and free, they shall never sound in slavery!'."

Billy, deciding that his voice had been rested enough, aided the others in singing.

"The minstrel boy will return we pray, when we hear the news, we all will cheer it. The minstrel boy will return one day, torn perhaps in body, not in spirit. Then may he play on his harp in peace, in a world such as heaven intended. For all the bitterness of man must cease, and ev'ry battle must be ended!"

"Ha, ha, whoo! If we weren't gettin' rich off of loggin', we'd make a fine band, I'd wager." Billy hollered.

They all sat back down, smiling, chuckling even, at the distant fantasy. But that thought grew in them, and at times they could not resist pondering their chances. A round of compliments was shared, and the crew gathered up their tools for sleep. But before any could wander too far into the tents, Billy lit the fire again, and summoned the rest.  
It was a dimmer fire with a orange glow that danced across Billy's features. He grinned a malicious smile and spoke slowly, stereotypical of any fire-side story-teller.

"Ya'll aren't skeered, are ya? You know what tonight is?"

Matching his tone, the rest of the crew sat back down on the logs and listened out of curiosity.

"Thirty-first of October. Th'say that this night's when all the wights and ghouls like to be about, prowlin' on anybody fool enough to cross 'em - especially if they're nearly alone."

"So, you want to tell us a ghost story." Gavin's uninterest directed the conversation to its purpose. Billy only bit his lip and closed his eyes for a moment.

"Yeah, it's a 'ghost story' all right. But it ain't like any other ghost story you'd hear. This one's about - this very island. See, Percy and I didn't wanna tell none of you yet 'cause you'd get 'fraid and run off..."

Jonas, Gavin, and Trevor glanced at each other, without a hint of amusement in their eyes.

"But seein' its Halloween, we're gonna tell you now."

Billy leaned back, letting the light from the fire slip from his face.

"About a hundred-and-a-half or so years ago, a tribe of Injuns lived on this here island. But they was different than any 'ol Apache or Iroquois, 'cause they practiced some real dark magic. Legend has it, they made human sacrifices to their pagon gods. But they didn't just kill 'em. They sailed out to the mainland, nabbed some unfortunate souls in the colony by night, and made off with 'em, sailing back to the island. When mornin' came about, nobody had a clue why they was gone. Not until a British sailor from the colony found some canoe riggin' ruts on the sand early one day. He knew the smell of Injun well, and followed it on until he found this same island. By time he got his boat anchored, it was night, and the Injuns had already begun their profane ritual. When he realized there was Injuns livin' about, he got real quiet and snuck through these here trees and spied on 'em."

At this point in the story, the others began to become interested. Not frightened, only drawn in by the manner that Billy narrated it.

"Now, what he saw was like what nobody ever saw before. He found the missing women and children all right, but they was surrounded by the Injuns, and had no chance of escapin'. Their talk died down, and all on a sudden, everybody get real quiet. Not even the hostages was wailin'. Cause outta the shadow, come a rank of Injuns carryin' some hellish-lookin' statue of their demon-god. And when they set it down, that's when things get loud again. They start chantin' somethin' foul. 'Tasu, Scath Tasu, Tasu, Scath Tasu...' it sound like. Them chants get louder and louder, faster and faster, 'till they grabbed the hostage's hands and forced 'em all at once to touch the demon-god. Then someone chant out curses, evil curses. The sailor described it as bein' not like any words ya hear no foreigner be sayin. These sound all angry and hellish, like the voice of the devil is filling them. And that's when it happens. Faster than the blink of an eye-"

Billy's thrust his arm out in front of Jonas' face and snapped so unexpectedly, that he nearly fell backwards.

"They're gone! Disappeared completely. Not even the dust on their shoes was still there. Then all the Injuns get in an uproar of hollerin' and chantin', with all the fire of hell seemin' to fill their eyes. Now, you'd expect, after seein' this, anybody'd take off a-runnin'. And that's just what the Englishman did. He sailed on back to the colony and told everybody what he saw. But nobody believed him, save a few of his mates. They get together, and swear to find and liberate them missing colonists. The last thing known of them was that they took a boat, loaded it with muskets, and sailed to this island. And then nothin'- just like the captives, they never came back. Eventually, when the colony got too full of people, the kidnappin's stopped, but it was another decade before someone rediscovered El Tasu. But by then, the Injuns were gone, and the only trace of 'em was some piles of bones and a couple of canoes. Where they went, nobody knows, but I 'spect its the same place as they sent them hostages - to some kind of other-worldly hell."

He leaned back, returning to the familiar person he used to be.

"And that, is the tale of ol' El Tasu." Billy finished, grinning at his own impression. He was complimented with a few pairs of eyes held wide open and a silence that could be traced to slight astonishment and fear in their spirits. But this did not hold true to Gavin, who offered a smile and half-closed eyelids, revealing only humored amusement in his countenance. He streched, sighed, and became first to respond.

"Hm, nice story... Well, I'd better get some rest."

"Wait, Gavin, you got any stories?" Trevor asked. The last story thoroughly broadened his interest in a tale about the strange and unknown.

"I know a few..."

"C'mon, man, tell us one!" Trevor prompted.

"Eh- nah, maybe later. Night." Gavin stood up and made his way to his sleeping mat.

Much to Trevor's disappointment, the other crew members agreed that their day was done. Each of them returned to their tents and dreamt of pockets full of money and strange islanders with supernatural powers. None were neither wholly good dreams nor bad dreams, but Trevor's dream prefered the latter over the former.

* * *

Notes:

*There was a slight foreshadowing reference in Billy's ghost story that concerned Raven's background. The reference is a bit unclear and indefinite, so if you didn't get it, it's okay. :D

*Another thing that might be a bit unclear is Gavin's opinion on the war. To avoid confusion, I'll say this: He's torn between two feelings; revenge and logic. One side of him wants to avenge his father's death, but the other side is convinced that if he joins in the war, he will die, just like his father.


	4. IV - Fortune Uncovered

Chapter IV

The heel of Gavin's boot landed on the rustic treads of the tractor. With squinted eyes, he inspected the twisting patterns of pistons and gears in the engine. The tractor was an old machine - one Gavin had long expected to break down at any time. But now it finally had.

"How'd this happen?"

He pointed at one of the gears on the chassis' axle. It was once a small, eight-tooth crown, but now half of its teeth had been snapped off.

Percy shrugged. "I don't know. Me and Trevor was haulin' this log up hill. We come along some friction, thinkin' it was just the log on the dirt, but then somethin' snapped, and the lever gets really loose, and don't do anything."

Billy made his way to the opposite side of the tractor and studied the problem.

"Dang, that one's pretty deep in there. You'd have to take this whole thing apart to replace it."

Remaining silent, Gavin continued to stare at the gear. He eventually looked up at Billy.

"Mr. Dylan sent us those spare parts for this thing. Don't you have 'em in your tent?"

"Deedy-do. Lemme go check."

Billy went and returned, dragging a large metal chest behind him. He flipped the locks open, and tore the lid off. Inside lay a confused heap of pipes, cords, screws, gears, and plates made of all kinds of metals.

"What is it? Eight tooth crown?"

"Yeah. Two centimeter axle, five centimeter radius, three centimeters thick."

The crew gathered around, and following Billy, each of them started to dig through the chest in search of the replacement part. The chest was flipped over, and all of its contents strewn in rows along the ground. Each part was inspected, but to no avail. After half an hour of searching, no worthy substitute be found.

"Mr. Wade, I think we all know that the boss gave us the wrong repair kit." Billy concluded.

Glancing back at the rustic machine, Gavin replied. "No. He gave us the wrong tractor."

"Then, what should we do about it? You're in charge here."

Gavin sighed in dissappointment. "Well, obviously the tractor isn't going to get very far. And we aren't going to get very far without it... We either carry 60,000 tons of timber half a mile across the island on our shoulders for the rest of the month, or somebody goes back to the mainland to get a replacement crown - or a new tractor."

Billy crossed his arms. "Who are you sayin' should go? Yourself?"

Gavin rolled his eyes and scowled. "No- of course not. It's going to take three of us to operate the barge."

"So, what yer sayin' is, three of us should go get that replacement part, and two of us should stay here?" Percy intervened. Jonas approached, but said nothing.

"I don't see any other way in it. Without it, we won't be able to meet the deadline. Then we'll all be fired."

Trevor protested at the possibility. "Woah, woah, shouldn't Mr. Dylan take any responsibility for this? It's his fault for giving us this lousy piece of junk."

"True, but it's his company. He decides who's fault it is." Gavin noted, sitting down on the tractor's tread.

"Then who's fault is it, really?" Billy questioned.

"It's no one's fault. But if we don't do anything about it, it's gonna be everyone's fault."

None in the crew chose to disagree with Gavin. But there was one question left to be settled. Billy glanced towards the shore, and then back at the tractor.

"Who exactly is a-goin' on the barge, and who's a-stayin' here?"

Gavin looked down and rubbed his chin in thought. "Maybe you, Percy, and Trevor could go get the gear. Jonas and I will try to keep up, here on the island."

"Wait- But Trevor's the one with the maps. Shouldn't he stay here too?" Percy inquired.

"No, ya'll, I should be goin' wi' you and Bill, and Gavin and Trevor could stay here, 'cause they know what to do." Jonas reasoned. Billy and Percy sided with him.

"Yeah, I mean, you two got all the knowledge for this job - we don't. Make more sense if you stayed here, and we went and did somethin' simple like this. Make sense?"

Though Billy was smiling at this conclusion, Gavin's countenance was still frowning with thought.

"Trevor, what do you think?" He finally asked.

"Sure, I'll stay. Though I'd really think that somebody should get back and talk this whole thing over with Mr. Dylan."

The decisions were finally reached, and by night, Jonas, Billy, and Percy loaded the barge with half the rationing, and promises of returning with twice as much. Gavin and Trevor had little time to linger in farewells at their parting. Now, three crew members less than the company they began with, they had much to do.  
Gavin and Trevor worked past midnight - felling trees, uprooting stumps, and clearing foliage. Though exhausted and weary when they had turned in, the morning's work could begin no later than 5 a.m.

"Mr. Wade, the sun's not even out..." Sleepily, Trevor rubbed his forehead, awoken by Gavin's shouts.

"Look- I know its early, but without the others, we can't spare any time. We can do without an hour or two in the mornings."

He stumbled out of his sleeping mat and plodded behind Gavin on a trail leading away from the camp. With bundles of saws and axes under their arms, they found the treeline, and immediately Gavin started chopping away at the first tree in sight. Trevor took a seat on a stool and lit a lantern, in an attempt to lose his drowsiness. He sat and watched Gavin work through squinted eyes. But Gavin, noticing the silence behind him, paused, and glanced at Trevor.

"Well? C'mon, we gotta start right away." He grunted.

Trevor gripped his axe and slowly stood. "You really think this is worth it?"

"What's worth it?"

"Working our asses off doing both our and the rest of the crew's work at the same time."

Gavin turned back to the tree and frowned. "It's either this, or we're sent back to the States and get the draft notice." He started swinging the blade of the axe into the trunk again. With a motion from Gavin, Trevor found a separate tree only a few feet away, and began felling it.

"Face it, man. There's no way the two of us are going to meet a deadline that is even difficult for five of us. Not even if we stayed up all night." He panted, after a long round of swings at his tree.

Gavin did not turn to respond to Trevor this time. At a steady pace, he continued to strike the trunk.

"Yeah, we can. I figured the numbers. If we just work a few extra hours for the next five days, we'll be on top."

"Five days? Until what? Billy, Percy, and Jonas come back? How do you know they're gonna come back that soon? Or, even come back at all?"

"Have some faith in them. They couldn't just leave us here, or they'd be fired too."

"We're as good as fired already, unless Mr. Dylan can pardon any of this. They may as well have gotten back and run off without us. We already know that Billy's a liar. A damn good story teller, I'll give him that, but still a liar."

"Give 'em five days. If they're not here after that, then we decide if it's worth it." With that, the conversation fell silent, and Gavin and Trevor continued to work for the next three hours.

Breakfast was, of course, pre-rationed by Gavin, and was never eaten faster. The remainder of the day was spent between these two; meals, and long hours of work in between. Their time during meals and sleep felt shorter; their time during their labors felt longer. And the work hours continued to stretch until the two men subconsciously chopped, carried, and sawed away, lost in daydreams and drowsiness. The heat of the tropical sun stung more fiercely, the thorns penetrated deeper, and what was once light lumber grew heavy. Still, Gavin refused to allow any of this to alert his mind. He clenched his teeth, furrowed his brow, and demanded that Trevor do the same.  
This lasted no more than three days. Rather than waking up that morning on the fourth day, rattling off a number of half-conscious protests, Trevor awoke, coughing and spitting.

"What's the matter, Smithey?" Gavin asked, leaning on his axe outside Trevor's tent.

He emerged, attempting to beat the cough out his chest. "I think I've come down with something."

He gagged a few seconds more before sitting down on the log by the campfire. "It's the mosquitos, on the east shore, I think."

"You think it's just a fever? Or worse?"

"I don't know. I hope a fever's all it is. Maybe I'll be able to get back later on today."

"The first aid's in McKyle's tent. If it gets worse, don't keep it to yourself. Hell knows what these mosquitos got."

Trevor kept his neck craned towards the ground as he reached for a bit of cloth in his pocket. Shakily, he wiped the perspiration off of his forehead.

"Okay... I think I'll be fine."

Gavin gathered up his tools and hiked towards the site. Gradually, and unnoticeably, he began to slow in his pace. Without Trevor, or any of the other crew members, the island seemed to grow more and more quiet. More quiet than the woods behind Brennsbale. This silence caused Gavin to note the details of his surroundings; something he had not had a chance to do since the crew first arrived. Beside him, rows of stumps and shrubbery dotted the landscape. Underfoot were webs of twigs and felled branches. Overhead, the night sky was lifted by the gradual increase of the sunrise, revealing a blank stretch of grey clouds that continued for miles. Perhaps the silence came with the wind, which muffled the cracking of the sticks as Gavin walked on them. Like past events had, the foaming grey clouds and the rush of wind foreshadowed hopelessness for him. The realization that he was the he was the only able member of the crew left, weighed heavily on his conscience like chains.

The ambient sleepiness tugged at Gavin's limbs, rendering his trek to a slow saunter. Every part of his being began to alert him, all at once. With every aching footfall, his eyelids grew heavy, his senses dimmed. He walked, trying in vain to blink away the tire. At every moment he opened them, it seemed that his numb legs had brought him to a place far from where he had first closed them.

He finally opened his eyes to scan the site. There were several stumps left in need of uprooting from the day before. One stood before him now, surrounded in a ring of leafy foliage, and sporting splinters on its top like a crown. Unconsciously, Gavin's arm unloaded the bundle of tools onto the ground. He found the brush hook out of those, and dug its hook under the nearest root. Like a lever, he pushed down on the end of it, lifting the root off the ground. He repositioned the brush hook, and shoved it down again, bringing the root slightly higher. He carried on with this, until the edge of the stump had been lifted high enough off the ground for his judgement. Leaning the brush hook on his shoulder, he steadily circled to the other side of it. He brought the hook down on the opposite lip and pulled, straining the stump to lift like the lid of a tin can. A long, futile moment passed. He gripped the axe tighter and pulled again. But his arms had no strength in them; sleep ailed him like poison. Panting, he stumbled back and fell to the ground, hesitating to pick himself up. He merely sat, gazing at the site through blurred eyes.

Without warning, a rush of wind steadily poured into that area, spiraling itself around the stump and shaking the leaves of the bushes. Without clear vision, they almost seemed to come alive; each branch and stem waving in slightly humane motions. Bodies, with a flesh constructed of twigs and leaves, that had waited long for that wind to return and reanimate them. The whirr brought by the gale intensified in Gavin's ears, and spoke to him in hushed, unrecognizeable words. The utterances, foreign and cold, swam through his head, brushing away any logical grasp on reality. The wind increased, somberly, languidly, rising into an remote howl. The dreary wavering pattern of the foliage became faster and faster, almost as if the leaves themselves were separate tongues of flame, screaming into Gavin's ears a sort of unworldly chant, something vile, but in the same way, seductive. He felt as if some immoral being was there with him, hidden behind the cloud of fog that hung ominously over that site. A being that was very human, and was watching him as he fettered away in drowsiness on the pine-coated soil. As numb in mind as in body, he felt and thought nothing. His head bobbed, and his eyes sank down, focusing on the half-rooted stump.

It was in this nauseous state, that, thunder, clinging to the wind, erupted in the gray clouds above. With it, lightning sparked from one cloud to the next, illuminating the trenches in both the firmament and the earth with a gallant, blue glow. At each coursing of electricty, Gavin's fading eyes were stung with the gleam. He squeezed his eyes shut, but the root-like streams of lightning were frozen to his vision. Only those fossils of light and darkness he allowed himself to see. But one glimmer was not fixed in the uppermost region of his view. It was a smaller, dimmer light that laid far below the edge of the sky. It was noticing this that triggered Gavin's recooperation to consciousness. As he strained his eyes open, the wind steadily fell silent, and his sight cleared. The chanting ceased, and those gathered around him became as still and lifeless as statues. They were all foliage again, but the sensation of being in the presence of a hidden being lingered like a dying man's words. He gazed again through squinted eyes at the stump. Another trail of lightning beamed through the clouds, resounding the same luminous flash as before. In this flash, underneath the lifted edge of the rotted stump, Gavin saw something shimmer. The heavens boomed furiously, and ever so gently, rain began to fall, first begining with one drop, then several, then a multitude - just as it had done in Filton. Lightning struck again, farther this time, but the shimmer did not falter in its appearance. As a mirror reflects light, so had the lightning been reflected, on something, deep underneath.

Gavin rose to his knees, and without mind to the downpour, he hesitantly crawled towards the center of the clearing. All was quiet when he placed his head on the soil for a closer look at the source of the shimmer. He waited, his anxiety having dissolved his thoughts of tire or pain. In time, the lightning offered one last spark of lumination. Strangely, it did not duplicate the blue shade properly, rather, it struck him as being tainted with another color. _Yellow_, he thought. _Gold, even_. He reached underneath the roots of the open edge and faintly felt for the object with the tips of his fingers.

"Trevor!" Gavin sprang up and took to his feet, running back towards the camp. "Trevor!" He yelled again. Trevor noticed him rush into the camp. He was bent around the campfire, struggling to keep the fire he had just started from being swept out by the rain. Coughing, he glanced up at Gavin.

"What?"

"Trevor, get your shovel."

"What makes you think I'm feeling any better, fifteen minutes later?"

"This is important! There's something we need to get before the rain buries everything in mud."

"It's just a few stumps, Gavin, there's nothing-"

"Listen- ...I found something. Something that could save us a lot of trouble, if it is what I think it is. Now, we gotta go get it, before the ground swallows it all up."

Gavin picked up a shovel leaning on a tent and threw it to Trevor. They both headed back to the site, Gavin, running, but Trevor, staggering, and coughing. By the time he had arrived, Gavin had already positioned his brush hook on the roots.

"C'mon, gimme a hand! There's something half-buried underneath this thing."

Holding in his beguilement, Trevor clamped his mouth shut, and positioned the shovel on the opposite end. Simultaneously, on Gavin's signal, Trevor levered the open lip of the stump upwards, and Gavin pulled it back. All at once, in a flurry of dirt granules and snapping roots, the stump was ripped away. Exhausted the two men staggered back. Gavin quickly regained his footing and was up with his shovel in hand.

"Ya see it? Get your shovel, and be careful getting it out."

Trevor, sputtering and shaking, stood, and glared down at what soil the stump had once covered. There, admist a valley of clumps of dirt and roots, lay a solid, metallic object, made of what appeared to be, gold.

"What is it?" Trevor asked, sleepily.

"Gold, as far as I'm concerned." Gavin replied. "If you really wanna know, help me dig this on out."

Both of them were shaking, partially from exhaustion, but more so from excitement, as their spades sunk into the wet ground and shoveled away. Working faster than the downpour itself, two feet of earth was removed from the perimeter of the object. Though soil was still cemented to much of the object, they could estimate its dismensions to be, at least one and a half feet tall, and a foot wide. Gavin placed his hands on the stained knees of his slacks and hunched over the ditch with Trevor.

Panting, he asked, "Trevor, see if you can pull that thing out."

Trevor responded and lowered himself into the ditch, crouched, gripped the object, and heaved upwards. A painstaking moment of pulling passed before the object was wrestled loose of the earth that clambered to hold it tightly down. In his trembling hands, Trevor lifted it out of the ditch and up to Gavin. Slowly, Gavin wrapped his arms around the golden object, cradling it for a moment, studying it. He stood, raising the object to the sky, so that what little light was left could reveal its details more clearly.

Droplets of rain collided with the bumpy, golden surface, and trickled downward through the crevices in the clumps of soil, and then fell on Gavin's caliced, dusty fingers. They were like tears, tears of joy that Gavin felt on the seams of his eyelids, but refused to show. He shook his head, opened his mouth in a smile, but his voice could not be found. Lightning flashed in his favor again, causing every golden etching to gleam. At the very crown of the object, a sort of crudely carved 'S' faced Gavin. The object itself was no ordinary chunk of gold, but a brilliantly molded statue, ornamented in figures and letters on all surfaces. It resembled a very short pillar. Vertically, it was hexagonal; three sides bore inscriptions, while the other three boasted pictorials of multiple organic figures. These figures, and the inscriptions themselves, Gavin could not trace to any origin, but he knew from this that the sculpture was something ancient. Gently, he brushed and blew the loose dirt off. Trevor climbed out of the hole and approached Gavin, staring at the statue with the same amount of uncontainable awe in his countenance. The illness was forgotten.

* * *

Notes:

*This chapter was going to be longer, but it was a little bit too long, so I decided to split into two chapters. Sorry if this is a bit of a cliffhanger, but I'll be working on chapter five asap. :/

*I tried writing a little bit more emotion into this chapter than usual. Feel free to let me know if it's an improvement. C'mon, click that review button! :D

*Whew, okay! That's what I got for my first update. I'm sorry I haven't gotten any of the characters from TT involved yet, but like I said, just keep waiting. I know it's been boring so far, but there's just two more chapters until we get involved in the main story.

*I dropped you readers another reference to Raven's background in the last paragraph - I hope that it was obvious. :P


	5. V - Carved In Gold

Chapter V

The downpour had continued to beat down on the camp since morning. Left with no other option or desire, Gavin and Trevor sat under the worn, beige cloth roof of Percy's tent, hunched around the golden sculpture. Twisting it around in his hands, Gavin studied the inscriptions in silence.

"Well, Wade, what do you make of it?" Trevor piped up, after checking the lantern. Gavin's complexion did not so much as twitch in his direction. His eyes were still fixed on the statue in his grasp. Smoothly, he brushed his thumbs over the surface, scraping away the flakes and clusters of dirt.

"How do ya think that got here?" asked Trevor, urging Gavin to speak. He finally noticed him and replied in a hushed tone.

"I don't know... Maybe, it's like- pirate treasure."

"Pirate treasure?" Trevor was taken back. "You really think that this is some long lost loot from a crew of pirates?"

"I said 'like' pirate treasure." Gavin snapped, suddenly rising out of his awestruck state. "I don't mean that it was buried here specifically by pirates, but someone had to bury it here."

"Well, who then? It looks like somethin' some tribe of Injuns would make." Trevor pointed to the figures carved into the side.

"You mean, like in Billy's story? I thought you were deadset on that he's a liar."

"Yeah, I said 'a damn good storyteller' too. And something about stories- most of them have a little bit of truth in them. Now, I'm not saying anybody disappeared into thin air, but maybe there were some Injuns living here."

"Well then, this couldn't have been theirs. Injuns this far up north didn't smith gold." Gavin set the gold pillar down in the center of the tent and motioned to it.

"I'm thinkin'... the South American Injuns- they make things like this, right? So, when the Spanish conquistadors go on down, and raid their villiages, and all hungry for wealth, they find this, bring it back onto their ship. Then they start sailing up to the colonies. Now, before they get to Florida or Louisiana, they lay anchor on this island. For some reason, they have to drop off the loot here. Then something happens that makes them not come back to retrieve it. And its forgotten about. Until now."

Trevor nodded, impressed by the plausability of the explanation. "Makes sense to me. Just wait until the guys come back, this will be something! I bet not even Billy could-"

"Don't-" Gavin flinched. His voice became quieter again. "No. We can't tell anybody! We gotta stay quiet about this- only you and me can know."

Trevor scowled, clueless as to why he had become upset. "Why? What's wrong with that?"

"First of all, this isn't ours." Gavin tapped the edge of the sculpture. "Technically, it's property of Mr. Dylan. We may have been the ones that found it, but that doesn't make it ours. Secondly, there's probably more gold like this out there, still buried underneath some rotten old stumps. Wouldn't make sense for only one of these things on the entire island."

"Wait- are you saying, we're stealing, if we're taking this for ourselves?" gasped Trevor, slightly worried.

"It's not stealing if you're taking something from someone that doesn't know it exists. As long as we can keep it secret."

"So, it must be worth a pretty penny, then? How much, do you think?"

Gavin clasped the statue again, and held it up against Trevor's lantern. The dull flame cast its light on the carvings, vibrantly animating the figures by the flickering of the shadows. Most of the soil had been cleaned off by then, and the golden reflection glowed more brilliantly than ever before.

"Well, the average chunk of gold this size would take a man's financial worries away for a year or two, assuming that this is entirely made of gold. But this isn't average. Look at it- this thing could be priceless. I don't know how rare of an artifact this is... But a price for it? Unfathomable."

Trevor could see the lantern flame, reflected in Gavin's eyes. His brows were stiffened as he once again examined the sculpture. On the peak of each side of the pillar was, as Gavin previously noticed, a sort of carved 'S'. But the shape consisted of four different parts. The very tips of both ends of the 'S' were separated from the center curve. Just beneath the upper lip was etched a very short line, a dot almost, that was as well separate from the other three parts. From the way it had been carved, it almost appeared to have facial features. The dot was an eye, the upper part of the center curve and the broken tip like eyebrows, and the lower curve and its broken tip, similar to a mouth. Gavin was unsure of how he perceived a face in this figure; the features were so unlike any human, or any creature that he knew.  
A sharp feeling of uneasiness swept over him. Figures had never before struck him as being malicious. Letters had always just been letters to him; but something about this one held an air of deceit and treachery.

"You have anything in mind?" Once again, Trevor dissolved Gavin's awestruck trance with questions.

"What do you mean?" Gavin asked him, shaking the thoughts out of his head.

"You know, things you want to buy with this!" He chuckled.

"Well... I reckon I'll buy my dad's property back. That is, if nobody's built anything on it already. And maybe buy a place for Tommy and Susan."

"Hmm?"

"Oh, Tommy's an old friend of mine. He got drafted, just a few months ago. When he comes back from the war, he and Susan are engaged to marry."

"That reminds me..." Trevor reached into his pocket. Out came a shiny sardine can, wrapped in a white hankerchief. He delicately uncurled the lid, and emptied a small, black-and-white photograph into his palm.

"See this girl in the picture?" He inquired, holding it up to the lantern's light for Gavin to see. "I'm gonna buy a diamond ring, then walk up to her, kneel, look her in the eyes, show her that ring, and say, 'Katherine Ellison Bell, will you marry me?" Then we're gonna go find a place to live in Washington, right next to the White House."

Gavin tried to contain his laughter. "What if she says no?"

"She won't." Trevor grinned, laughing as well. "But if she does, I'll just take the ring back and say, 'More for me, then!'."

The two of them smiled and glanced at the photograph for a moment. Trevor sealed it back into its container, and replaced it in his pocket.

"If I got any money left over, I guess it'll go into making myself a business. Buy my own carpentry shop, hire some people..." Gavin's voice trailed off and was replaced with a yawn.

"Ah... I'm going to get some sleep- wake me when it gets done raining, 'cause as soon as it does, we're going out to that spot to dig for more gold, alright?"

He climbed into the pile of folded blankets that served as his bed, and Trevor wrapped himself in what sheets were used by Percy as his bed.

"Okay. God, there better be more of these things." Trevor commented, before dimming the lantern. With the flame, the glow on the statue slowly died away, leaving the imprint of light from the 'S' mark embedded on Gavin's eyes when he closed them. He twisted towards the wall of the tent, squeezing his eyelids tighter, trying to forget the vile symbol entirely.

"Ho, now! There's number two!" Trevor called. The ditch had gone from knee-height to over shoulder-height in a matter of hours. Fever still hung in Trevor's throat, but a full night's rest and dreams of fortune had aleviated most of it. He smiled, grasping his shovel with one hand, and with the other, he felt the surface of a golden object jutting out of the dirt wall. Gavin kneeled and stared down in the ditch Trevor stood in.

"There we go..."

Trevor brought the spade down on the edge, separating more soil from the statue.

"Careful! Don't scratch that thing. We need it in as good a condition as we can get. Here- let me take over."

Trevor left the shovel where it was, climbed out, and allowed Gavin to replace him. He slid the shovel out, bent down, and inspected the edges of the gold pillar protruding from the soil.

"Alright, you know where the pickaxe is?" Gavin called out.

Trevor peered down into the ditch. "Yeah. McKyle's tent, right?"

"It's in the pile with his axes. We're gonna need it."

Gavin watched Trevor take off towards the campsite, kicking up the moist, wet soil as he ran. It wasn't long before he was out of sight, leaving him momentarily alone with the sounds of the wind rustling the branches of felled trees and the glimmer of that enigmatic artifact. Now that the clouds had nearly cleared from the sunlight's path, the gleaming, metallic texture was as distinctively reflective as the other pillar. Though soil still concealed most of it, it was enough to assume that the statues were identical. There was that same symbol again - etched into the uncovered end of the sculpture, and striking him to be as unearthly a mark as before. It stung his eyes when he looked at it. His curiosity and greed prompted him to fix his gaze on the strange gold pillar, but at every glance, the figure stared back at him, bringing that dread feeling of being watched by something diabolic, that he had sensed the moment before the night's storm. Ever since he had first laid eyes on it, his bitterness had gradually risen against it, to the point his subconscious argued with it, as if it were alive, and mocking him with its glare.

_"We'll pry you out of you're den, take you back to the states, where I'll sell you off for a million bucks, and never see you again."_ Gavin found himself whispering. The S-shaped symbol made no reply, still blazing under the light of the sun. He scowled at it, until it occured to him that Trevor, after being given enough time, had not returned. He raised his head above the lip of the ditch, glancing around for any sign of movement. His search reaped nothing more than the waving of leaves in the wind.

"...Trevor?"

The wind just kept blowing, in short, weak bursts, continuing the pattern it had when throttling the waves against the coastline, not too far away.

Hesitantly, he climbed out of the ditch, the gold statue and its malicious symbol forgotten. He could hear faint commotion in the wind, carried to him from that direction. In his mind, he knew that Trevor had heard it as well, likely before even he had, and had been drawn to it. Rather than returning to the camp to look for him, Gavin followed the sounds. With mixed feelings of bewilderment and curiosity, he crept, noiselessy, ducking under each fallen tree limb in his path, until the horizon transformed into a solid, blue line that precariously rose and fell with every beating of the wind. His gaze fell from the sea to the beach. Instantly, the feeling of his heart sinking inside of him caused him to stiffen, so that even the trees and rocks seemed to be not as dead as he. There, anchored on the sand, laid a barge, plainly different from the one Gavin had watched leave.

This vessel was nearly three times larger, suited to carry much equipment and passengers. Strewn around it was a handful of working men, all wearing battered construction helmets and tool belts. Some were busy chaining the barge in place, while others worked to move their supplies from off the barge. He could spot three familiar individuals, standing on the deck of the barge. Billy, Percy, and Jonas all wore preplexed expressions, glancing at the workers and each other. Beside them, stood Mr. Dylan, wearing the same black suit and puffing on his cigar, appearing just as out of place as he did at the dock a month ago. To the right, on the sand beside the barge, was Trevor, looking just as confused as Billy, Percy, and Jonas, and feeling the same kind of disappointment as Gavin. From his position in the trees next to the shore, he knew that there was only one purpose that Mr. Dylan and a handful of older, more experienced workers had come. Then came a sight that disturbed him more than the strange symbol on the gold statue ever did - the gold statue itself, in the arms of two of the workers, hauling it away from the treeline that led to the campsite, and towards the barge.  
This both devastated and enraged Gavin. He instinctively curled his fingers into his palm, tightening them into a fist, and before he could think, he had walked out into the clearing of the beach and caught the attention of Mr. Dylan.

"Oh, Mr. Wade?" Mr. Dylan paced to the front of the barge and stepped off the deck, directly in front of Gavin.

"What is going on?" Gavin breathed, through clenched teeth. Though he predicted the answer, he still asked, unbelieving.

"The clearing of El Tasu is being resumed!"

Gavin remained motionless, unsure of what he meant by it. Mr. Dylan exhaled a cloud of smoke from his cigar and explained.

"I appreciate that you were willing to undertake the job until I had accumulated an adequate crew. But you need not worry, we'll handle this,son."

"What do you mean? You're firing us?" Gavin's voice quivered, nervously, restraining his disappointment.

"No, you are relieved. It is simply because you are no longer needed here. You did not actually think that I would hire just five young men to orchestrate the clearing of this entire island until it was finished? It was apparent from the beginning that you would not be able to sustain the task for long. Now, no one is to blame. Your crew did remarkably well for your age and lack of experience. Also, the finding that gold piece, I gratefully accept. I have payments arranged for each of you; twenty dollars for the extra work since last month, and for the gold. But we have no further need of you- but our country does. Go back home, son, join the army, or something useful. Uncle Sam needs you."

Gavin stepped back, staring at Mr. Dylan, disbelieving. What little color was left in his face had vanished completely. But slowly, it began to refill with the red shade of anger as he turned and faced Trevor. Trevor noticed him, and started to stammer in his defense, but was harshly interrupted.

"What did you tell them!" Gavin shouted, marching up to Trevor. "I told you to stay quiet!"

"I did! I did! They were already there, when I got back. I couldn't stop 'em! They were already dragging it out of the tent!"

"Well, now we're fired, and even worse, they know about the gold. Damn you, should've hidden it!"

"I didn't know-"

"Shut up and c'mon!" Gavin retorted. "We need to go hide the other one, before they find out about that, too!"

With little notice from the new workers, Gavin and Trevor rushed through the tree line and back to the digsite, relieved to find that they were the first to arrive. Nervously, the two glanced around for something to conceal the ditch.

"How about that log right there?" Trevor pointed out a thick, felled log on the edge of the clearing. Gavin gave one glance towards it.

"Good, good, that'll do."

Simultaneously, they both grabbed the ends of the fallen tree, and made quick work of navigating it towards the opening of the ditch. Little by little, they shoved the log over it, hiding it completely. Its shadow fell on the edge of the buried gold pillar, causing the gleam on the detestable symbol to cease.

"Won't the workers come picking through here for stray logs tomorrow morning?" Trevor asked, panting.

"That's why we need to dig that thing out. Tonight." Gavin stated. As much as he disliked having to face the statue's symbol again, returning to the states significantly less wealthy than he had anticipated was even shameful to think of. The two men lingered on that last hope of prosperity, being that the alternative was to face going home, only having a few dollars better off than when they had left. Home, where the military draft was certain, and opportunities were few. There was no other choice for them.

* * *

Notes:

*For those of you who are better acquainted with the Trigon/Raven story, it was probably painfully obvious that the symbol on the gold statues is *spoilers* The Mark of Scath. I hope that's enough to make this chapter feel more relevant to the TT storyline.

*Speaking of relevance, we've only got one more irrelevant chapter until this all starts to make sense. Hang in there, guys. :P


	6. VI - Shrouded Glow

Chapter VI

An unsettling quietness hung over the camp. The replacement crew had pitched their tents closer to the shore, barricading any unnoticed path from there to the barge. By the time Gavin and Trevor had arrived, their campsite had been stripped of half its supplies; leaving only the tents, their personal tools and belongings, and the ashen remains of the campfire. Solemnly, the two men crept into the clearing, almost despirited by the sudden emptiness, and began gathering their things. Billy's tent was left with nothing, Percy's with only a few tools, and Trevor's with what belonged to he and Gavin.

"Where'd everyone's stuff go?" Trevor finally asked, glancing around his tent with a look of confusion.

"They're sending our crew back to the mainland as soon as the new one starts working. Which means, tomorrow morning." Gavin opened the tent flap and entered. "Billy and the rest already got their stuff packed."

Trevor, following close behind, came in after him, and flung his hand towards the spot where the gold statue had once rested. "You think they had anything to do with this?"

"Well, the dumb bastards shouldn't have gotten Mr. Dylan involved with this, or else we might still have a job. Of course, I don't know if they were the ones that came in here and squealed about the gold. You see them around here when you came looking for the pickaxe?"

"Nah. But that doesn't mean they didn't. The pickaxe- um, speaking of which..." Trevor dragged one of the blankets out from in front of him and raised the tool from under it.

"Good, we're gonna need that. Gonna need this, too." Gavin picked up a long, thin, plastic case for him to see.

"What's that?"

"Rifle." Gavin flipped the locks off of the case and opened it, revealing his Springfield, neatly stored within. Trevor's eyes widened.

"You brought a gun?"

Using the strap dangling from the Springfield, he slung it over his shoulder. "Everywhere I go."

"You're not actually gonna use that thing, are you?" Trevor stepped back, slightly worried.

"Not unless we get any trouble from the new crew. Even then, I'll just scare 'em off with it."

"A little much, don't you think?"

Gavin glared back at him. "We're talking about a priceless gold artifact. I'm not going to let this go, not like the last one."

"How do you plan to sneak it past Mr. Dylan and the rest when we take the barge back?"

"Well, you got that rucksack, right? Think it'll fit?"

Trevor peered down at the rucksack in the corner of the tent. "It should. Won't be any room left in it, though."

"Alright, grab that." Gavin reached back into the case, removed his munitions shoulderbag, and put it on. "We're gonna need the lantern, too, but keep it dim until we get there. Somebody might see it and get curious."

"What about this shovel?" Trevor raised one of the the additional spades that they had brought with them. It had a shorter shaft, and unlike the others, it was less rustic and weathered.

Gavin momentarily pointed at the shovel. "Hang on to that. We'll need it for the tight spots." In response, Trevor did nothing but lean the spade on his shoulder and watch as Gavin shuffled through his bags.

"We gotta take almost everything. The sleeping mats can stay until the morning."

Finally, Gavin hoisted his rucksack and his brush hook over his shoulders, as Trevor had with his his tools.

"You ready?" Trevor asked.

"Yeah, we're set. Go ahead and snuff the lantern out. I got some matches on me if we have trouble lighting it up again."

With a twist of the knob, the flame of Trevor's lantern grew faint and died completely, shrouding the tent's interior with a darkness so thick that they delved into invisibility. Gavin's hand waved the tent flap open, and the two of them trekked towards the mild, glowing light of the outside.

Night had fallen very quickly, and that unnatural, starry night sky that hung above them many nights before stretched across the tips of the silohetted trees and shrubs. But there was no warm, orange light luminating from the campfire. Their eyes adjusted to a world of black and blue, every shade between every tree sank into an individual realm of inky shadow. They crouched, and Trevor followed the trail of pine needles and twigs, as Gavin followed the soft creaking noises of them as they snapped beneath his feet. The harrowing silence rendered every tinkling of their tools against each other as they hung from their belts a little louder, bringing the two to proceed with the upmost caution. The noises became almost patternized, melodically piecing together in a routine as their feet passed one another. It became like a dream, unconsciously shifting through a darkened return to that memory of coming to the site and finding the first gold pillar.  
Gavin stopped, allowing the plodding of Trevor's feet to fade. He waited for a moment, listening, awakening to reality of it. But no sooner than when his awareness returned, he recognized something distant. Voices, feet stomping beneath them, approaching from their side. He assumed that Trevor had either heard it as well, or noticed the lack of rhythm from Gavin's movement, for his pace ceased as well. They froze in their places, locked in a state of uncertainty.

Trevor's whisper sharply cut through the silence. "Someone's coming!"

"Go!" Gavin hissed back at him. They rushed forwards, proceeding as quietly as running men could, until not but a few steps further, they reached the clearing. The sounds of the crew member's conversation vanished almost instantly.

"Hear anything?" Gavin glanced around, squinting through the shadow for any other unwelcome signs.

"Nah, I thing they were going the other way." Trevor replied, still whispering.

"Alright..." Gavin rifled through his pocket for his box of matches. He opened it, snatched one, and struck it against the heel of his boot. "Bring it here."

Trevor held the lantern up to Gavin, who then positioned the lit match to the oil. The flame jumped from his hand to the lantern, filling the clearing with a dull, yellow embrace. With the light beside him, Gavin motioned to the ditch.

"C'mon, let's get this log out of the way."

Gavin grabbed one end of the log, and with his free hand, Trevor clutched the other. It was hastily shoved aside, and the two men climbed down into the ditch. Once again, the lantern's flame hovered over the golden surface of an artifact. The colors beat against the exposed portion, repeatedly igniting that familiar, crudely carved 'S' figure that adorned the height of the exposed edge. Gavin's gaze shifted away from it quickly, purposely avoiding the mixed feelings of awe and dread that unceasingly flowed out of it.

"Let's get the pickaxe on this, first." He huffed, patting the dirt wall from which the statue protruded. Trevor planted a pole that he had brought with him into the ground, then hung the lantern by a hook on its side. Both his hands idle, he reached towards his rucksack and removed the pickaxe from behind his head.

"Far too many roots around the top, take too long to cut through 'em." Gavin added. "We already got a good size ditch. Start digging it out through the bottom, make sort of a tunnel going down, undermine it, then we'll pry it out."

With nothing else to say, they angled their tools against the dirt and began hammering away; Trevor smashing the soil into flakes of dirt with the pickaxe, and Gavin shoveling those out of the ditch with his spade. Having that gleaming key to fortune to motivate them, they managed quick work of the process, for within the next one or two hours, the lower half of the golden statue had nearly been totally exposed. The weather had participated well with their progress, as the rain had dampened the soil just enough make ideal for digging. The upper half still hung to the roof of the ditch. Gradually, the short tunnel was formed; being dug towards the side of the ditch with the gold object, but inclined downwards the farther it went.

Panting, Gavin handed a flask of oil to Trevor so that he could brighten the lantern. "Okay, we only got a little bit more. If we can get enough dirt out so that we can kinda stand, or crouch under the gold to get behind it and pry it out, that'll do."

Trevor nodded, coughed slightly, and raised the pickaxe again. He tried to ignore the cold sweat that had built up and focused on the reward in front of him. Then he started to look at it, in much the same way that Gavin had; scanning over its edges and etchings, watching the lantern relfected in its surface, staring down the strange letter at its crown. For the first time, he began to study it. This time, he didn't look at the gold it was made of, rather, what the gold had been made into. He began to realize, just how out of place the gold pillar seemed to be. Very simply, he felt the carved 'S' with his hand, and asked,

"Gavin, what's this?"

Gavin glanced up at it. Why did the sight of something so harmless, sting his eyes? He flinched, squinted, and then shook his head, pretending to be uninterested.

"Does it matter? C'mon, bring the lantern down in here. We need some light."

Trevor grasped the lantern, and after a quick observation of the statue again, he scooted farther into the tunnel. Having little space, the two traded places, and the pickaxe was in use again, smashing the surface of the dirt into pieces. The deeper the tunnel sank, the more and more narrow it became, so that no two men could stand beside one another. Swing after swing, the ground before Trevor's feet dissolved into chunks of loose soil.

"Almost got it all dug out." He called to Gavin.

"Tell me when you need me over there." Gavin called back. He positioned the lantern as close to Trevor's spot as he could, leveling the pole over his shoulder. Trevor continued to batter the soil down, swinging left and right, until a sharp, clanging noise echoed through the tunnel.

"I think I hit something." He stated, shaking and panting. Gavin leaned around him for a better look.

"What is it? A rock?"

"I don't know- gimme the lantern." Trevor ushered the lantern farther into the tunnel. He studied the solid object on which the pickaxe had struck, waving the lantern over it.

"Yeah, it's a rock. A big one. But I think I can get it out of the way- it's real loose..."

"Get it out of the way, then." Gavin watched and listened to the distinct sounds of stone grinding against stone. Trevor seemed to have taken the end of the pickaxe and wedged it between the rock and the wall of the tunnel. He gave several tugs, before finally falling backwards, the loose slab of rock sliding down into his lap. He shoved the slab out from in front of him, pulled the lantern forwards, and stared at the area that it had once been in confusion.

"Oh, shit, man..." He gasped.

"What?" Gavin asked, irritated.

"There's nothing here!" Trevor continued to stare.

"What are you looking at, then?"

"No, I mean, there's _nothing_ here!" To Gavin's surprise, Trevor crawled forward, deeper into the shadowed recesses of the tunnel, farther than what he had expected the earthen barriers should. He retracted, then called up to Gavin. "It was behind the rock, there's a whole cave down there!"

"A cave? You sure?" inquired Gavin, unbelieving.

"Yeah, it's big enough to not be able to see the end of it. I think we could get through here. We'll have to crawl, though."

"Well, we're not here for that. C'mon, focus, we need to get this gold out before anything else. You got enough space to start digging it out from the back?"

Trevor shook off the curiosity he had for the cave, angled the pickaxe above his head, and began to strike the soil.

"Shouldn't be more than a few hits. Might not want to let the ground fall on you when it comes out." Gavin advised. In time, the gold pillar had been successfully undermined, and soon they both found their grip on either side of the exposed underside.

"Okay, we'll need to work it smoothly, back and forth, until it comes out; like a loose tooth."

Like clockwork, it was wrenched out from its clinging hold to the roof of the tunnel, just as Gavin had presumed it would. Cautiously, they laid it on the ground, next to where he had had set his rucksack.

Trevor glanced upwards, then back at the hole broken into the stone. "I guess we shouldn't be touching that top soil. Doesn't look to firm."

"Yeah, that's a good idea. Open up my bag, let's see if this thing will fit in."

Having taken the bulk of the loose soil that sprinkled down from the roof of the tunnel, Trevor brushed himself off with the palms of his hands, as Gavin did with the the statue, until he shrouded its bright, yellow gleam with the rucksack. The sculpture was nearly too large for the bag, but he managed to cover it whole.

"You got it?"

"Yeah. I think if we hang some of the tools on the back, the shape will be hardly noticeable."

"Okay, good. Now let's see what's in here."

Trevor slid towards the opening to the cave, and nearly set his foot through it before Gavin's hand landed on his shoulder.

"Woah, hold on."

"What? If there were two of these gold things, think about what could be in here!" Trevor exclaimed, excitedly

"We don't know that. If we go in there, and the dirt on the roof of this tunnel collapses down on the hole, we could be stuck in there, wasting light, wasting air, wasting time. Besides, we got what we came for, let's get out of here. Somebody could be here any minute. No telling what time it is."

Gavin shouldered the rucksack and crawled just far enough out of the short tunnel to glimpse the night sky above. He felt as if they had been digging through the ground for days, but the stars above appeared to had hardly moved. All judgement of time in this small, underground world revolved around the flickering of the lantern as it gradually dwindled away into soot.

"Can't we hold it up with something?" He heard Trevor say.

"We're not here to explore some damn cave. Think, man. We got the gold, let's go!"

Regardless of Gavin's warnings, Trevor slipped through the jagged entrance, carrying the lantern down with him. The echo of cloth sliding against loose dirt, and the heels of his boots colliding with a stone floor rang through the tunnel. Gavin stared ahead, into the sinking blackness, only softly illuminated by the lantern's light escaping the mouth of the cave.

"Dammit, Trevor!" He yelled, enraged at the show of foolishness. But Trevor's reply was unmoved by his anger.

"Holy shit... Gavin, you gotta get down here! It's gold, everywhere!"

Grudgingly, Gavin followed the excited calls through the narrow end of the tunnel until he too found the hole, and the stone slab lying before it. He curled his legs up, then extended them through the mouth, and slowly lowered himself in, feeling for footholds. The drop was a bit farther than he had expected, but it was no more that five or six feet down. He landed, crouching, and slowly craned his neck up at Trevor's lantern.  
He stood in the midst of it all, waving the lantern over every golden surface. There were countless more gold pillars - stacked upon each other, strewn in piles around the perimeter of the cave, leaning against the yawning, grey stone sides. There, just in front of Trevor, a expansive wall was carved into the cave side, and smelted with golden etchings and figures from top to bottom. The gold reflected the flame of the lantern so vibrantly that the cave was ablaze in a collection of yellow gleams, each glare like stars speckling the night sky above the ground. The sight rendered

Gavin speechless. He rose and stared around him, overcome with awe.

"I told you, and I was right! Man, look at all this! I must be dreaming..." Trevor rattled on.

"It's too good to be true..." Just as Gavin let that whisper seive through his teeth, he began to realize just how similar all of the gold statues appeared to be - all of them, bearing the crudely etched 'S' at the head of each of them. That familiar sense of unease swept over him yet another time, but did not remove his awe at the sight. He urged himself forward, and stood beside Trevor. Both of them gaped at the ornamented, golden wall that faced them.  
Its edges faded out of stone, becoming increasingly golden the closer it was to the center. There were more carved figures, all etched across the folds in the rock wall, that flowed inward in rows, towards that center, of which bore a deep impression. The sides and frame of the impression at the center were, like the gold pillars, uniquely carved, with figures and pictures sown all around it. And similar to the gold statues, at the top of it all, a golden pedestal that boasted the familiar 'S'-like letter that caused Gavin and Trevor to cringe faintly. The impression itself was rectangular in the frame, but at its depth, the left and right sides curved into the center, arching horizontally.

"What is this?" Trevor gasped, holding the lantern up to the impression.

"Looks like some kind of altar..." Gavin stated, his voice trailing away. "Maybe there was supposed to be a statue in this thing."

"Wait- a statue? Like these?" Trevor waved his arm in the direction of the piles of gold pillars.

Gavin scowled and thought for a moment. "Yeah... that's probably what they're for... looks like any of them could fit in."

"Maybe they're supposed to connect somehow." Gavin watched Trevor pick up one of the loose golden sculptures that laid at his feet. He pointed to the base of the pillar, and continued. "You notice these grooves before? The other two have them, too. Look like they could fit on those spikes."

He glanced at Trevor's statue, then at the impression in the wall, and back to the statue. Indeed, on the underside of the pillar, a collection of intricately carved indents formed a ring, one that seemed to mirror a ring of teeth that potruded from a wheel-like slab of stone resting bottom side of the impression.

"Yeah... It's almost like- a... key."

At Gavin's statement, they both looked at each other, then at the golden sculptures, puzzled and silent. A realization had slowly dawned on them, and with it, any traces of sensible unease were smothered by their ravenous curiosity. Even the smallest of their doubts and questions that had gradually pierced their thoughts since the beginning of it all, had merged into a singular, powerful desire for answers, and like starving men at last with food in their grasp, every other matter was forgotten. An air of thoughtless unrest throbbed in the beating of their hearts.  
After careful study, he finally responded.

"Try putting that one on it. By the looks of it, if it works, it'll spin like a slot machine, except sideways."

Trevor obeyed quickly, placing the gold statue inside the altar, attempting his best to align it precisely.

"I'm not sure if this one works. Maybe there's only one of these that does." His hands continued to hover over the six sides of the pillar, twisting it left and right.

"Wait- try getting one of the sides with that symbol on it, to face the front, like the one above it." Gavin wiped the sweat off of his forehead and motioned to the pedestal above the impression. But he did not look up. He kept his eyes closed or on the ground, afraid that his consciousness might slip away into that horrifying, blurred void that swept over him every time his gaze met that of the mark.  
A distinct, clanking screech echoed from the impression. Trevor, though winded and worked harder than the strength his illness allowed, stumbled back. The statue had locked in place, and brilliantly accompanied the wall in its mystic grandeur.

"Guess that was the right one." He panted, grinning weakly. Gavin removed his attention from the pebbles at his feet for a moment long enough to register what had been done.

"Either that, or they all fit. Why there's so many, I don't know."

Trevor shrugged and patted his knees. "Well, now what? Is it supposed to open something up?"

"You tried turning it again? I said, like a key."

"Okay..." He turned back to the wall, tucked his hands into the impression, clutched the gold pillar, and twisted it to the right. A piercing, grinding noise shattered the silence in the cave, and could nearly be felt resounding on the stone floor below their feet. Huffing, Trevor managed to rotate the next face with the symbol outward.

"There's the second-" A sharp click interrupted him, causing to retract his arms quickly in a flight instinct. For a moment, he wondered if Gavin had pulled the trigger of his rifle, but he turned to see Gavin still unmoved, staring at the apparatus in the impression. He nodded at Trevor.

"One more time. Three's the magic number."

Slowly, Trevor's wrists slipped back around the statue. Again, more hesitantly now, twisted to the right, coming to face the last side bearing the symbol. The grinding faded into another sharp click. But this time it could be felt. The ground below them jolted fiercely, and instinctively the two stiffened in their posture, wide-eyed. They glanced around, at the gold pillars, and finally at each other. Gavin noticed that Trevor was shivering. His hands, blackened and cut by the soil that they dug through, shook increasingly more. And in sync with his shivers, a faint humming that sank and rose like a piston progressively faded the abrupt silence, like that of a distant machine.  
Gavin's first response, after a second of discerning, was the conclusion that the new logging company had maneuvered their tractor to the clearing above the cave. Knowing that if the machine drove too close, it's weight could crush the cave's ceiling beneath it, putting an end to them. His head snapped upwards, expecting to see grains of stone sliding out of the cracks in the cave's roof.

"Hear that? Tractor's coming, we gotta move."

No sooner than when he had said this, he took a second account of the noises and realized another thing about them. The humming sluggishly rose and fell, cycling through three dull pitches that felt unlike any motor he was familiar with. It also bellowed not from above, but below. Gavin crouched, squinting and inclining his ear close to the side of the cave. The palm of his hand glided over the smooth, black shadows in the crevices of the golden wall, hastily feeling for the source. No, the roof of the cave hardly shook at all, but he could feel something beating behind that layer of gold and stone.  
The more he listened, the less it was the sliding pistons of a machine. It breathed, so uniquely that he could discern the pattern of inhale, exhale, and a thing he could find no word for. As if the unease from the symbols that surrounded him had built up to the point he could ignore them no longer, he retracted, shocked and confused.

He turned his attention was on Trevor, who appeared utterly oblivious to Gavin's words or the pumping hums that emitted from behind the wall. His eyes, though tired, were held wide as they transfixed their gaze on the symbol carved into the statue. His trembling fingers ran over the edges and crevices, feebly caressing them. He continued to stand, undaunted by anything but the gold 'S'. Hesitantly, his lips parted and began to mumble.

_"Scae Tasu, Lyiz Scathion..."_

"...What?" Gavin blurted, scowling at him. He began to study him further out of bewilderment. He watched Trevor's finger as it rushed over the smooth surface below the mark, shaking as it flowed upwards and downwards, dancing over the imprints of the letters. His face was contorted into a expression of stiffened, shivering dread. In the reflection of the light, Gavin thought he could make out thin pools of tears, coursing over his cheekbones from under his eyes. _Why was he crying?_

"Trevor, get away from it." Gavin choked, nearly whispering. Trevor remained unconscious to him, without even so much as a flinch in his direction. It was then that he realized that the wet glow that reflected on his eyelids came not from the lantern in his hand. The lantern had drained its oil quickly, and on that last drop, the flame faded. There was something else that illuminated the chamber with the same kind of orange shimmer as fire. Gavin's sight began to follow Trevor's hands. After every waver and tracing of his finger against the surface, the gold etchings behind it would ignite into a string of shimmering, unnatural orange light that radiated with a soft, crackling hiss. And even as he mumbled unintelligibly through a clenched jaw, something like fog began to leak out of the gold wall.  
It was pitch black, and twisted like water. At each tracing of the figures, a stream of this darkness would flow out of the corners and envelop the air with shroud of complete shadow. Even the fierce shine of the etched figures could hardly reach far out into the depth of the cave without being consumed entirely by the blackness. Gavin watched as a stream of the fog rolled towards his feet, and began to intwine with his legs and the gold statues, coiling around them like a snake. Stunned, he stumbled backwards, still staring into the clouds of shadow that surrounded him. All he could make out was Trevor, still standing, facing the impression in the wall, mumbling and tracing, the glow from the letters nearly dimmed entirely by the shadow.

"Trevor, get away from it!" Gavin tried to yell. But his voice was smothered by that piercing hiss that resounded from the fiery script on the wall that had grown louder and sharper until the breathing behind it was mute. The fog thickened quickly, even so that it appeared to become more materialized than smoke or shadows. It was a dense, black barricade that swamped everything in its path and drowned away all cries of fear.

"Trevor!" He called out, desperate that he should regain his consciousness. The mumbling that he could hear coming from near the fading glow of the etchings abruptly rose above the hisses. There were more voices, all of them breaking out into an unintelligible chant, and none of them belonging to Trevor. Whimpering like a sick man, he clenched his teeth and covered his ears with his hands. He could still hear them as clearly as before. None of them echoed from outside.  
It was the same voices in the clearing; with the same wind filled the cave; and that same horrific feeling of being in the presence of a vile, unseen being. And in one sudden moment, the voices ceased, replaced by a deafening silence. As he watched his blur, the few dim lights in his sights disappeared behind a veil of inky blackness. Closing his eyes or opening them, the shadow remained. One by one, his scattered thoughts vanished as he slipped into a dream-like unconsciousness.

* * *

*Notes:

*So, here's chapter six! I'm glad I got it done, because from the next chapter and on, the story is going to be much more related to TT. Hopefully, I'll have time to get chapter 7 out soon because this one ends with a bit of a cliffhanger. :P

*So, like I said in these notes before, I'm trying to improve my writing. I guess because this chapter was a bit more eventful, I was able to get into writing it more. :)


	7. VII - Zurrioth

Chapter VII

The vibrant, blue rays of light that fettered through the rocky crevices in the cave roof mingled with the clearness of a trickling stream of water, as it too found its way through the surface and into the chamber, together descending softly on Gavin's sleeping eyes. At the cool feeling, they slowly opened, and the drops continued their way over his dirt-stained cheeks. The sudden brightness that met his sight forced him to squint, but allowed him to gradually clear away the blurred shadow that clung to the edges of his vision. His hand awakened along with him, curling around the loose gravel that rested in his palm.

The grains seived through his fingers before he brought his hand to his brow to shroud the brigtness of the light. As he sat up, feeling returned to him; the aching of his limbs, the tug of hunger, and the air of dread flowed from the ends of his body and into his head. Shutting his eyes, he hesitantly brushed the dust off of his chest and arms. But he could still recognize the droplets of water pouring down from above, running down his crown and sinking into his forehead, just as acutely as his memory had begun to. He sighed through his nose and gave another glance at the rays of light above him. Unconsciousness, he thought, had never felt so much like sleep.

Looking around him, he took in the world he had awoken to. The stone ceiling carried a shade of dark grey, similar to the texture of the ceiling that the lantern had brightened, when it was lit. But everything else about the atmosphere was mysteriously unfamiliar. There was no yellow glint as the light embraced the ancient, gold edges of the statues, for there were none. The new source of light, in itself, was unrecognized. At the time the lantern still digested oil, the perimeter of the cave was fully visible. But in this new place, the sides unendingly stretched outward beyond the grasp of the blue rays, enclosing them in barricades of shadow. He could make out a forest of yawning, grey stalagmite pillars that dotted the cave interior and merged with the stone roof. And each individual pillar bore the wavering, blue tint of the light as it was reflected by soft, rippling pools of water that encompassed them and increased ever so slightly with the streams of water that slid down their length.

It was the most beautiful sight that Gavin had ever opened his eyes to. But unfamiliarity was a thing that Gavin detested, and the dark events that had transpired left him in a state of unease and confusion. He shuddered when rising to his feet. There, just in front of him, lay Trevor's rucksack, visibly filled with the gold statue, still resting inside of it. He took the bag by the strap and cradled it, then hesitantly felt for the opening flap. The memory of how much that symbol haunted to him was the first to be remembered, as he cautiously opened the rucksack, and quickly closed it back, just long enough to assure himself that what he had gone through so much trouble for was still there, whether or not he despised the very sight of it.

Along with thoughts of the gold, he remembered Trevor. Before his feet was littered a variety of loose rocks and debris, most of which rested beneath the openings in the roof of the cave. After careful inspection, he gathered that one among the piles, more cloth-like than the rest, was Trevor's body, sleeping just as deeply as he did.

"...Trevor?" Gavin grunted, waving his arm like a drunkard.

Ignoring the ache in his joints, he stumbled towards the unconscious man. Though numb in many places, he could recognize how smooth the ground was, despite the chunks of rocks that were spread across it. He carried himself towards the midst of the debris and paused, just longenough to take in a final note of the surroundings.

He, Trevor, and the debris were scattered along the surface of a sort of stone pedestal, and with equal craftmanship with that of the statues, was precisely and flawlessly carved and decorated with etchings. He could almost sense the detestable 'S' carved into the stone in the center of it all, right under his feet. Smaller, different figures encompassed it in rings until they reached the circular edge. Beyond the edge, a moat had been formed around it, placing it in the center of the underground lake. But Gavin felt little concern for these details. He continued staggering towards Trevor.

"Trevor, what in hell did you do?" He found his voice, and was only slightly taken back at how loud it echoed through the cave.

He found him lying on his stomach. Fortunately, his hand was still curled around the lantern, ensuring that it was likely undamaged. A thin layer of dust and pebbles coated his slacks, collared shirt, and hair. Gavin was relieved to see the gradual rising and falling of his chest against the stone floor in breathing motions. Though his breaths were mildly stifled, whatever had happened to him had not been fatal. The rod with the lantern hanging from the end Gavin took and set aside, before reaching to Trevor's shoulder and gasping him by the suspenders.

"C'mon, wake up. I swear-" His frustrated mumbling was cut short.

As he thrust Trevor's body onto his back, his arm remained unconscious. It fell limp at the toes of Gavin's boots. With the light luminating Trevor from above, he realized a strange thing. In his palm, the familiar 'S' figure appeared to have been burned into the flesh. The edges of the symbol were black with ash and dust, and fumed with thin, grey, snake-like tails of smoke that flowed into the air. There were more similar figures. His gaze followed a row of them, all smoking and a shade of fiery scarlet, that trailed down his wrist and forearm, ending at his sleeve. Though the skin was largely dark with dirt and soot, what was not had faded into a pale white, almost grey pigment that sickened Gavin to look at it. The very words that were etched onto the statue, had been branded into his body.

Then his face. His throat stiffened repetitively, and hoarse, choking breaths flowed through it and out his mouth, which was agape and frozen in shock. Like on his palms, the symbol was burnt deeply into the middle of his forehead. But what took Gavin back the most were the changes in Trevor's eyes. The eyelids were stained with ash and soot, and the eyes themselves were completely devoid of white. Instead, they were a glassy, dark tint of grey that unnaturally reflected the rays of blue light from overhead. The surface of his eyes seemed to be shrouded in a thick cloud of fog, blinding him from consciousness. Gavin jolted and paced back a step, shivering.

"Shit, man, shit..." He gasped. Slowly, he began to shake his head as he stared down at Trevor. "Bastard, what did you do?"

Trevor's countenance remained silent. His throat continued to emit raspy chokes and unintelligible murmuring as his endless gaze, wavering unsteadily, rose towards the blue rays of light that seeped through the cracks above him. Gavin knelt at his side and searched for anything else that was out of place. The instinct of survival inside him was growing, and he began to take inventory of what they had brought.  
The Springfield had remained on its strap throughout the time he was asleep, as did the munitions shoulderbag. Trevor's lantern was drained of oil, but it was still in working condition. Despite Gavin's advisements, Trevor had brought his napsack with him. In Trevor's rucksack, there was, of course, the gold statue, but also a box of matches and a few flasks of oil in the pockets, and his brush hook strapped to the top of it. Searching the depth of the rucksack, he discovered that he had forgotten to remove his sketchbook and a few pencils before they left. The three shovels and the pickaxe were scattered across the pedestal, partially covered with the debris. Trevor still had the sardine can in one of the pockets of his slacks, but it was no use. Gavin had brought a hunting knife in his tool belt, and Trevor had brought a hatchet in his. By the time the two had left the camp, they had little food left, and did not bother to bring more than a couple of canteens with them. Gavin glanced at Trevor's half-living expression.

"I don't know how any of this happened, but we're getting out of here. Now, c'mon."

He assorted what the two of them had brought in Trevor's rucksack, which he heaved onto his shoulders. What could not fit inside was hung from the straps on his tool belt or on the rucksack itself. He also took the napsack out from behind Trevor's head and tied it to the top of the rucksack. Taking Trevor by the suspenders again, he lifted his limp body off of the ground, then curling his hands under his arms and grabbing him by the shoulders, he dragged him towards the edge of the pedestal. Hesitantly, Gavin's foot tested the pool of water that met the edge. The freezing chill that made him feel that five seconds in that abyss would cause hypothermia to immediately set in startled him, but did not surprise him.

"C'mon, Trevor, wake up. We're gonna have to swim." As expected, Trevor made no response to Gavin.

One of his hands clasped over Trevor's nose and mouth as the other pushed himself foreward as he began to stride through the moat. The temperature pained him to move, but he forced his legs into long, sweeping strides so that he could know if there were any drops in the ground below him. He only took a few steps before there was a considerable deeping, and clenching his shivering jaw, he straightened his body against the surface of the water and propelled outward.  
Having little energy to begin with, and what of it he had left that the chilling water had not consumed, the swim stretched on for longer than Gavin had expected. He could see the shadowy outline of a rocky bank ahead of him. Though the water was uniquely clear, he felt as if not just the weight of Trevor pulling him back and down, but something from under the depths. The memory of the black fog flashed through his thoughts.

"Damn- cold..." Gavin growled.

He blinked for a long moment before his focus returned to the rocks. Putting the last of his strenth into his next stroke, his hand met the surface of the bank on the other side. First with his fingers, then his elbow, and finally his knees, he hauled himself and Trevor onto the smooth, stone shore. Just as he released his grip, Trevor's unconscious body began to convulse slightly, sputtering and coughing out the what water had seeped through Gavin's fingers. Gavin pulled himself further up the bank and clutched his arms and knees, shivering from the cold as much as from paranoia. In that short swim, his feet had become completely numb, and attempting to stand on them did little to help. He stumbled to the side, fortunate to catch himelf on one of the stalagmites, and panted through his teeth.

"C'mon, Trevor. C'mon."

The cold only became worse now that the air sifted through the wet fabric of his clothes. Instinctively, his trembling hand reached for the matches and oil in the rucksack, and lit the lantern. A wave of relieving heat swept over his wrists, but he would not let this delay him. He hooked the lantern onto his rucksack, took Trevor by the shoulders, and continued to drag his soaking figure through the cave.  
The floor quickly lost its smooth texture the further he carried him from the water. Blindly, Gavin felt his way through the darkness behind him, glancing at Trevor and back to the cave tunnels ahead. At first, the only thing in that cave describable as "dry" was the scraping of the ankles of Trevor's boots against the pebbles and gravel. To Gavin's relief, the farther they delved, the less wet it became, and though the only light came from the lantern and a select few cracks in the roof of the cave, he managed to navigate with precision. His ears filled with the distant echoes of dripping water and crumbling debris, but none more distinct than his own shuffling footsteps and his voice as he repeated aloud,

"...Trevor, c'mon, wake up. C'mon, Trevor..."

Trevor's head hung down to his side, sleepily watching the passing boulders and rocks beneath him. Gavin had few guesses on where an exit to the cave may be, if there was any existent to begin with. Common sense told him that if he were to find the cave wall and follow it, there might be an opening. But what struck him as strange, was that even with the cave's deep ditches and mounds, there was not an end to it in sight. When his weak, shivering form had finally exhausted itself, his fingers choppily uncurled from Trevor's suspenders and clasped around his own arms. The lantern had drained the oil faster than he had expected, and the shadow was quick to regain territory that once belonged to the light of the dimming flame. He reached for another flask of oil before pausing in realization. He was wasting the oil too quickly.

For all he knew, the cave could stretch on for miles, and he only had so little light, direction, and speed to go with. He could not keep carrying Trevor and hope to find a way out. His first thoughts were of using the pages from his sketchbook as fuel; but those would hardly sustain the fire for long enough.

"Trevor, wake up, damn it!"

He held the lantern to Trevor's face, hoping that the sudden heat would bring him back to consciousness. But those dull, grey eyes only continued to stare, increasingly drowning the orange shade of the flame. Though faded, he could still see the burning glow of the symbol, steaming from his forehead. Gavin sighed, and let the lantern drink its last of the oil. He resumed listening to the echoes of the things that ricochetted through the cave. Water breaking the rocks, rocks breaking other rocks, and the rise and fall of Trevor's raspy choking.

But when he listened closely, he could distinguish a new sound. He may have taken it for the rumbling of the cave roof dissoving into debris under the pressure of water and age, but it was a continuous grinding of stone against stone. Not boulders smashing against each other, but like rocks and gravel gently chipping together in a variety of patterns. Gradually, the echoes increased behind him, and he turned, staring off into the blank darkness, searching for its source.

Gavin peered over the height of one of the many boulders that were scattered about to observe another crack in the roof. Like in all of the others, the light pouring out of it faded into a blue as bright as the sky above, suttlely illuminating the stone and steams of water beneath it. Watching carefully, he could recognize that something occasionally disrupted the light rays in their path to the cave floor. There was something moving in that place, something alive and not as a result of natural decay.

With a round of additional dull, scraping echoes, it shifted under the light enough for Gavin to see it. He squinted, disbelieving what his eyes told him. He had assumed it to be an animal, four-legged in the least. But the silohette beneath the light appeared to be standing, much like a man; on two legs and an erect back, arms at its sides and chin held up. And he would have thought it to be human, if he had not taken note of the texture that the light rays struck.

It was the rough, bumpy surface of stone, nearly more jagged and crudely cut than any other rock in that cave. As much as what was visible of it seemed to be of this construct; the torso, legs, arms, and head were all a dark grey shade of rigid stone. Even as its shoulders were considerably broad, it seemed thin because of the long length of its limbs. The joints, having been traced to producing the grinding sounds, swayed so hesitantly and gracefully that it seemed to be moving through water. Two crystaline specks on the head absorbed the blue glow of the light, and the folds in the rock around them peculiarly gave an illusion of eyebrows creasing in grief. The face itself stretched long beneath the eyes until it broke into the sharp, jagged edges of its jaw.

Its head shifted, grinding against its neck as it gazed upward, staring into the light above. It paused in its movements and fell silent, almost as if in a state of contemplation and concern, and oblivous to the smell of the lantern's smoke that lingered in the air. The stream of water that trickled down from the edges of the crack dripped down onto its craggy forehead, and effortlessly ran down along the many sharp edges on its cheeks.

Gavin could not keep his eyes off of the creature. A man, formed in stone from head to toe, but in as much a living and breathing entity. He stared on, trying to perceive the trick of the illusion, but he could find none. It was what had drawn him to the gold statue; partial unquenchable curiosity, and partial fear begged him not to turn away. But fear gained over curiosity, and his hands reached for the rifle.

"The hell is that thing..." He whispered, his words subliterate from stammering.

Attendance to readying the rifle in defence pulled him down behind the boulder, hidden in the shadows. His shaking hands grasped the bolt and rapidly twisted it and slid it open, emitting a loud knock one pitch too loud for his confort. He held his breath, leaned his head against the boulder, and listened for signs that the thing had noticed the sound.  
There was silent pause that followed. He was sure that the creature had noticed it, but unlike any game animal, he heard no hurried sounds of fleeting footfalls. It froze in its place, and he could nearly feel its gaze sweep over the rock he and Trevor were crouched behind. Hesitantly, taking all caution to breath quietly, he reached for the munitions resting in the shoulderbag on his thigh. His fingers felt for the flap, curled around it and pried it open, then he listened again. One, stone-grinding footstep echoed through the cave. In his direction. He slipped his hand inside and frantically fumbled for a round. Another footfall. No matter how cautiously the bullet was pressed into the chamber, the unmistakeable click split the silence again. Gavin waited. No more pattering of bulky, stone feet against the cave floor. It, too, had frozen, noticing how loud and out of place the sound had been. His free hand slipped over Trevor's gasping mouth and silenced him again.

"Shh, shh!" He murmured through quivering lips.

Then there came another footfall towards him. Followed by a second. Gavin's mind began to cycle through responses in a confused daze of instinctive reactions. The first was to thrust Trevor onto his stomach, muffling his hoarse breathing with the gravel soil of the cave. The sliding of Trevor's boots if Gavin dragged him away again would be even less silent than loading the rifle. He had to escape, but he could not with Trevor. At the next crunching of the creature's foot, he slammed the bolt shut and sprinted away on his fingers and toes as fast as he could manage

silence. He scampered into another pocket of shadow, well fortified by debris and boulders. And as soon as the last part of him vanished into the dark, he spun around, trained his rifle on the source of the footsteps following him. Again, silence; only momentarily broken by each restrained breath of exhaustion. If not for the shadow, he could have seen Trevor from his position, but he remembered where he had hidden him. He was still close. But the stone man was even closer.  
He had not discerned any signs that it had attempted to chase after him when he ran. When he turned to lay eyes on it again, it was still resuming its gradual pace around the piles of debris, following the echoes of Trevor's cough. In it's reappearance, it rounded one of the stalactites, walked until it was only a few, grinding footsteps away from the unconscious man, and then it paused.  
Every crackling joint save in the neck quieted when it halted, and stared down into the black abyss of shadow that barricaded the sight of the blue glass mirrors that were its eyes from reaching Trevor. Both Gavin and the creature stood, frozen in curiosity and perplexion, listening to the sickly rise and fall of Trevor's breath. The thoughts of the former acted much more rashly than that of the latter.

"GET AWAY FROM HIM, YOU DEVIL!"

Gavin's cry sliced through the thick silence. He rose to his feet, pressed the stock of the Springfield against his cheek, and glared at the creature through the ironsights. He urged his feet foreward, revealing his form in the dull glow of the light, unfaltering in sternly aiming his sights at the face of the stone man. The creature flinched, emitting the same crackling of gravel as it swiftly turned towards Gavin in recognition. He watched it, amazed when the farthest edges of its stone brow fell, and its jaw opened.

"Devil?" The deep, rumbling voice of an elderly man repeated. "I have many names. But devil, that is not among them. You mistake me for another."

Gavin took another step foreward and readjusted the rifle stock on his shoulder. Choosing to disbelieve what rang through his ears, he shouted at the creature again. "WHAT ARE YOU, THEN?"

"What am I? Yes, that is a different question..." The voice replied, thoughtfully. Gavin found peculiar in the way that it carried mixed feelings of greif and joy; sadness covered with a hint of delight; and echoed with surety and knowledge. "Asking for one's name in greeting instead, is more customary, is it not?"

The quivering of Gavin's fingers on the rifle shook the sights too much for a clear view, and Gavin reluctantly lowered the weapon. He calmed his breathing, and waited for the stone man's next move.

"There is no title for what I am; for I am only one. But there is a name you may call me. I am Zurrioth. And what name might you have?"

A long moment passed until Gavin's voice answered the stone man. "...Get away-" He muttered as his feet hesitantly began to shuffle to the side, towards Trevor's body. It spoke again, this time with slightly more dispair in its throat than before.

"...Then may I call you, 'Visitor'? There have been no visitors to my place of dwelling in hundreds of years. Perhaps people now are like you; they have forgotten my name. Pity."

Zurrioth's head rotated on its jagged axis, following Gavin's shivering form precisely as he crawled to the other pile of debris.

"Though, I suppose is no fault of yours. Even at the end of my time with them, they had forgotten. My visitor, they had forgotten so much. That is why I chose to forget them."

Gavin's sight did not leave Zurrioth as his arm grappled around Trevor's shoulder. Abruptly, he aimed the Springfield back at the stone man with his other hand.

"DON'T MOVE!" He yelled through his teeth, clenched and bared.

Zurrioth's uneven countentance contorted with partial confusion at the sudden outburst. The blue, glowing voids of his eyes followed Gavin's arm as he reached into the shadow and tugged Trevor upwards.

"...Is there something that is the matter?" The stone man's voice asked, inquisitively.

Against Gavin's demands, Zurrioth approached Trevor cautiously, kneeling after two steps towards him. Gavin's hand immediately released Trevor's shoulder and flew to the barrel of the Springfield. No sooner than he had, the cave floor roared with the echoing crack of the rifle discharging. But then when he saw what became of the fired round, his fingers shakily released their grip on the rifle. The bullet had travelled to where he intended it to go; but Zurrioth had hardly shown any response to it. Only a few, small grains of rock had broken from the stone surface of his cheek, and fell to the ground with the dented round.  
Gavin continued to stand, motionless and empty-handed, able to do nothing as Zurrioth hovered over the unconscious body of his companion.

With one jagged arm, he quickly, but warily, rolled Trevor onto his back and into the light. The stone man's eyes began to rapidly scan Trevor's form in concern; his glare hovering over each and every smouldering mark. He recoiled slightly, and for a short moment, he opened his jaw, but no sound was produced. Both of them were still again; Gavin's eyes on Zurrioth, Zurrioth's on Trevor, and Trevor's staring blankly into the vat of light from above.

"Dear Azar..." The stone man exclaimed, his rumbling voice filling with grief.

In a swift, sudden movement, Zurrioth wrapped his hands around Trevor and cradled him in his arms. The crackling of his joints became more and more frantic as he began to search the area around him. His gaze shot upwards at Gavin, still unmoved.

"How long has he been like this?"

To this, Gavin could only shake his trembling head, unsure if he should respond. His mouth finally opened in stammering,

"I-I..."

"HOW LONG?"

Zurrioth's despairing cry nearly shook the foundations of the cavern. He brought Trevor closer to his chest and rose off of the ground. His eyes turned back to Gavin, expecting an answer.

"I don't know!" He growled back.

"He needs immediate treatment. Both of you do. But you must tell me what happened." Zurrioth ordered. "Come along. I can help you."

The stone man's gaze drifted back down at Trevor's gasping face. "Breathe..." Gavin heard him whisper.

Zurrioth turned to faced the light, and started to tread back the way he came. Untrusting, yet left with no other option, Gavin reluctantly followed behind him, making sure to keep the stone figure in sight, but out of his reach.  
He was astonished at how nimbly the stone man navigated through the cave. His legs stretched fluidly over every ditch and boulder, his head ducked beneath each stalactite and concaving ceiling, in such a graceful way that he seemed to know every bump and crevice of the cave by heart. Though tired, clueless, and stumbling over every obstacle hidden in the dark, Gavin managed to keep up with Zurrioth's unnaturally quick speed. He had no knowledge of where he was being led, but soon the cave transformed into a tunnel around him, and all traces of light had vanished. Only by the crackling of Zurrioth's movements and the occasional twinkling of his crystaline eyes when he glanced back at him, was Gavin able to find a path. Eventually, the stone man began to slow in his pace, and approaching him, Gavin could almost hear a sad muttering coming from him; grumbling to himself, or whispering some sort of incantation in words he could not understand.  
It was not long before a beam of dim, blue light poured out of the end of the tunnel, silohetting Zurrioth and Trevor against it in a black, shadowy haze. Though at times he could not see the stone man directly, the shifting shadows stretched along the walls until they found Gavin, and beckoned him forward. Then, Zurrioth fadingly passed from out of the light long enough for Gavin to make out the shape of a door. The frame gaped widely, carved to a height that matched Zurrioth's with ease. It was but an opening in the rock, for there was no hinging door to accompany it. Smooth, intricately carved pillars with stone vines coiling up around them, extended up either side of the frame. And at the peak of the frame, it arched inward, and with what little light escaped the room within, he could make out rows of figures and letters etched into the curves. Gavin would have taken a longer note of the workmanship on the doorframe, had Zurrioth not hurried his wary steps with another word of invitation.

"Come in! Quickly!"

Gavin passed beneath the stone arch of the door and entered the space within. By the time he had registered that he had entered, he began to study this new place. It resembled more of a room than any that he had seen in more than a month. The first thing to be noticed was the long, hexagonal stone table that rested in the center, its crafting in equal brilliance as the pillars of the door were sculpted from. Imprinted letters were sprinkled across its surface and along the edges, and even down into the rocky legs that entrenched into the soil. The cave wall did not stray far from it, as it mimicked its stretched, coffin-like shape, but allowed ample space for a individual as large as Zurrioth to circle around. The walls themselves were made of multiple pockets and shelves, all seeming to be naturally shaped, that dotted the circumference of the room. With them, he noticed an assortment of odd, blue-green crystals that clung to the walls and shone magnificantly across the rocks around them. Those were not the only lights, as a few torches were scattered about; most unlit and black with ash, but two or three burrowing their orange glow into the blues and greens of the crystals. Though the ground below Gavin's boots was soil and rock, he could not help but gain a sense of familiarity among his muddled thoughts and blank conclusions. It was nothing he had seen before; nothing that he could ever dream of; but he felt at home. Perhaps not his, but a real home, a place that someone dwelled in constantly and cherished extensive memories of.

"Your friend is fading..." Trevor's raspy chokes broke his wonder as Zurrioth gingerly set his unconscious body on the table.

The shivering in his limbs became more violent as Zurrioth released his grip on him and recoiled. Gavin dared not come closer to the stone man. But being tired that he was, he leaned against the cave wall, slid into a sitting position, and watched on, with the rifle in his lap and ears listening to Zurrioth's murmuring.

"He needs ether..." He heard him gasp.

Zurrioth reached into one of the impressions in the wall behind him, searching his his hand for a moment, until upon retracting it, he held a sort of bronze face mask in his hand. It reminded Gavin of the face masks he had seen doctors put on patients, with an assortment of tubes and straps lining the edges of it. But this one appeared slightly different than those; the tubes were the same shade of orange-brown as the metal parts of it were, and the mouthpiece, though welded into a smooth shape, was rather bulky in comparison with the rest of the mask. Zurrioth wasted no time in attaching it to Trevor's panting face. There were things like knobs that lined the sides of the bronze mask, in which with cautious coordination, he twisted, tightly sealing the mask to the jaw.

"Breathe; breathe, now." Zurrioth repeated, becoming calmer in his movements and tone.

Gavin observed as the rising and falling of Trevor's chest settling as his eyelids began to fetter and close around his dull, grey eyes.

"What are you doing?" He cried. "He needs to wake up!"

"No! He must not. Not in this condition. If his body were to awake, it would not be he that will manifest it." Zurrioth's sight sank down at Trevor once more, and they both listened silently as the choking coughs faded into long, sleepy breaths muffled by the mask.

Finally, he knelt at the side of the table. He produced a bowl of a fine, violet powder, that he then sprinkled on the exposed markings on his skin, all while chanting some foreign prayer. Immediately after he had finished, he brought the torches close to warm his wet, shivering body. Gradually, Trevor released his tensing muscles, save his continual breathing, and lay more unmoving and silent than he had ever been asleep.  
Gavin kept staring at Zurrioth as he worked his strange medical procedures; his brow furrowed in partial awe, confusion, and disbelief. The more he tried to reason with what he had just experienced, the more and more drowsy and ill his mind became. Once Zurrioth had finished with treating Trevor, he glanced over at the opposite side of the room, where Gavin had chosen to sit. Recognizing him, the stone man circled around the table and stopped before him.

"Your friend will be alright. As long as he remains asleep."

Gavin made not even a single flinch in response. He only glared upwards at Zurrioth and tightened his teeth against each other, restraining himself from being overcome by shivering again. Much like he had with Trevor, the stone man stooped, laid his jagged fingers on the soaking shoulder of his shirt. The glowing blue voids of eyes stared into Gavin's, and they began to study each other's countenance.

"You do have a name, don't you?" Gavin watched the stone of Zurrioth's mouth bend and stretch when he said this.

The movements of the stone man's face were wonders in themselves; that something that appeared so crude and jagged could give the feeling of concern; that the solid, hard texture of the brows and lips could impossibly bend and twist into expressions. He sat silently for a long moment, nervously staring into the two blue crystals of eyes, unable to explain what he was witnessing.

"...Gavin." he managed to croak. "And that's Trevor."

"Gavin? Trevor? Those are not names from here..." rambled the old, stone man. "Though, they are familiar. Where did you come from?"

Gavin thought it odd that the stone man, if he knew any other names at all could consider a name like his own to be foreign. As far as he knew, El Tasu was not at all far from the mainland. And though the place he awoke in had few similarities to anything on the island, he could not logically conjure any reason why he might be in any different place.

"Tennessee. But I don't know why anybody's name from there would be any different here."

The corner's of Zurrioth's rock-like lips rose into slight grin, but his voice still carried the same melancholy feel as when he had spoken before.

"Then you must ask yourself: Where are you now? What do you think, hmm?"

Gavin's fidgeting eyes scanned Zurrioth's expression with mild contempt. "In a cave, somwhere west of Gregory Dylan's logging camp on the island of El Tasu, eleven miles south of the Louisiana delta, where the Mississippi empies off. Judging by the look of things, I'm probably lying unconscious underneath a pile of rocks."

A soft chuckle escaped from Zurrioth's jagged mouth, before he paused and sighed. "Then you are a long way from home; yet equally as close. Space does not divide us between here and there. Is not that a strange thing?"

"Where are we, then?" Gavin snapped, scowling at the stone man's riddles. Zurrioth's grin sank as he replied.

"That is not something that is simple to answer, depending on the scale of the question. But know this; here, this room- it is part of my home. Will you not feel welcome here?"

He said nothing, and only frowned down Zurrioth's words as if he were offering him poison. Patiently, Zurrioth waited a moment for Gavin to respond, but when he persisted to stay silent, he asked again, "Do you really want to know where you are? Or would you rather forget this place entirely, and merely return home? That is what many of us wanted, when we first came here..."

Zurrioth stiffened his jaw, rose to his feet, and with another wave of grinding movements, he glanced back at Trevor, still asleep on the table.

"...Do you?" He calmly asked again.

"If it's going to get me out of here-"

"It may. Though it may not. That is your choice."

"Then, how about you tell me what's wrong with Trevor?"

The stone man turned from Trevor and stared back down at Gavin, and was met with the same unconvinced expression of irritation and worry.

"What is wrong with him? That I can tell you, but it is a long tale. How it happened, is something only you can tell me."

The warmth of the torches had done little for Gavin, as he still shook in every bone and held his limbs tightly together. Gradually, his shivering mouth opened, and stammering at first, he responded, "Got a job, in logging. Me, him, and three others come to this island. The other three go back to get things. Trevor and I are left to do the work. Find some gold statue. Then the other three come back with more people, and take the statue. So Trevor and I go dig for more to keep for ourselves. We found a cave, full of them. Then there's a hole in the wall, and I tell him to put a statue in it. He does, then all of a sudden he gets still starts talking nonsense. I tell him to stop, but he doesn't. Then the cave gets dark, and next thing I know, I wake up in this new cave, and he's covered in those marks."

Zurrioth's gaze sank from Gavin's face to the ground. "I had hoped against hope that it was not so..." The stone man rubbed his rocky fingers over his chin as he began to mumble to himself. "Fools we were, to assume that we had destroyed every last trace of the old cults! And now this Church of Blood! Worthless individuals, unholy devils! They are like locust, pestilence; you may wipe out many of them, but they will never die; only disappear for a time..."

Gavin watched as Zurrioth paced around the table and halted at the opposite end. He continued to stand there, facing the wall, shaking his head in bewilderment. But just as suddenly as he had become still, he spun around and stared back at Gavin.

"Where did you say you awoke?"

"In this cave, except on some stone slab that was shaped like a hexagon and surrounded by water."

The edges of Zurrioth's crystaline eyes widened as he circled back around to Gavin. "...Of course. That was the outlet. I had mistaken it for being merely just another ruin. But where are the keys?"

He hesitantly approached Gavin and observed him. "Tell me; do you know if any of these statues were brought here with you?"

Unthinking, and partially intimidated by Zurrioth's worried temper, he remembered the rucksack, removed it from behind him, and extended his shivering arm to the stone man.

"Yes, Gavin. You must give it to me." Zurrioth swiftly snatched the rucksack from his hand, tore the flap open, and emptied the gold statue into his other hand. After he had done so, he tossed the rucksack back to Gavin, and wrapped both hands around the golden sculpture. It seemed so much smaller and lighter when clutched by his bulky, uneven fingers. For a short moment, he held the statue against the dim, blue-green glow of the wall crystals and studied it in silence. More than abruptly, when his gaze met that of the symbol etched into its crown, his grip fiercely tightened, and he thrust it into the moist soil before him. Gavin jolted, startled by the sudden movement from the slow, stone man.  
Before Gavin had a chance to protest, Zurrioth grabbed one of the torches lying on the stone table, and threw it down on the spot where the statue had imbedded in the soil. No sooner did the torch strike the soil, did the smoking trails of flame engulf the statue, gradually twisting and rising up around it, until each orange flickering arm had marked the golden surface with soot.

Gavin's head shot up and stared at Zurrioth. "What in hell are you doing?" He cried. The gold statue, his last chance of fortune, slowly melted before him. The eye of the symbol, though tarnished with ash, was still glaring at him.

"Do not touch it!" Zurrioth warned. "That is an evil thing; dangerous even to look at. It must be destroyed, burnt away into nothingness."

Gavin's fury faded into fear as his sight fell from the face of the stone man the the smouldering statue at his feet. The gold seemd to melt too fast for it to be just that. As the inch-thick layer of metal liquidated and oozed over itself in steaming folds, a matter behind it began to appear. He quickly recognized the shape and color of bones; brown and rotting with age, though still somewhat preserved inside the metallic chamber. Bits of dark red flesh clung to the edges of some of the bones, but were soon blackened as they also drifted into the flame. The putrid stench of death intertwined with the flavor of smoke that floated outward from it until it dissolved in the cold air.

"...What is that?" Despite Zurrioth's advisory caution, Gavin continued to stare into the flame.

"A sacrifice, once. Entirely human." The stone man stated, glaring down at the smouldering pile of flesh and metal in disgust. "The cults would capture people from outside, force them to behold the mark, and if they did so long enough, they would fade out of consciousness and become as your friend is- asleep, disconnected from their old souls, and their bodies waiting to fill that emptiness with the essence of a demon. Much like your friend. Unless the individual resisted, or was immune, as I imagine the case was with you- they would put the statue aside, and simply kill the person. Then, while sculpting another statue for the ritual, the cultists would fill it with the remains of that person. They believed surrounding the soul with the mark would imprison it in as much."

Gavin's face filled with mixed expressions of confusion and dread. "What are you saying?"

Zurrioth sighed, and knelt on the opposite end of the fire. "Have you not noticed the mark? There is a name for it. The Mark of Scath. It is no ordinary figure, for each and every etching of it contains part of the essence of that creature. That vile, dark creature we call Scath. It exists only to imprison the souls of mortals; that is where the source of its power derives. It takes their souls from their bodies, sometimes suddenly, but other times gradually. It influences some to do its bidding, an example being the various Scath cults that find their way into every civilization and culture. No matter where there is mortal life, Scath works its dark power to influence it. In your universe, as it is here. Did you not believe me when I told you where you are? You are in an entirely different plane of existence; because Scath has brought you here. Your friend was brought under the influence of Scath and unconsciously performed the ritual, and released Scath's shadow upon both of you. Everything that touched by Scath's shadow was transported into this , you awoke atop the a ruin that the old Scath cults had built to offer passage between your world and mine.  
Scath is a sort of disease of the mind. By staring into the mark, the victim becomes faint and numb to the world around him. It is in this time that the mind is most vurnable. Slowly, Scath begins to speak to the victim; and its repulsive, unholy incantations and spells, one by one, replace the thoughts of the mind, until the soul is wholly disconnected. Without the mind to host it, the soul has no place; and that is when Scath marks the body and steals the soul. It takes the soul to a plane of existence that is not of your world or mine; but of its own mind. There, it reaps the souls it has stolen and thrives off of their pain to empower itself. And that is where your friend, Trevor, is now. In this vineyard. It is called the Vineyard of Scath."

Zurrioth paused, and continued to observe the flame before him as it hastily devoures the bones like a wild animal. The light of the fire flickered against his grievous brow as he shut his crystal eyes and cracked them open again. "I have seen it, many times. And now you have. So, now I have told you what has become of Trevor. Are you satisfied?"

Gavin looked across the smoke with an expressionless gaze that sluggishly broke its stillness by nodding mildly from side to side. He remembered what Percy had told him, that night in the camp. It was too similar to believe.

"No. That can't be right. None of this is. You, what happened to Trevor, that statue-"

"Gavin. Cannot you see past the seeming unrealism of this reality? Your friend is fading. There is no place here for doubt."

He stretched one stone hand over the peak of the flame, and suddenly curled his fingers inward. The flame mirrored every movement and just as abruptly fell and dissolved, leaving nothing but a puffy column of smoke in its leave. The smoke was soon to follow, as the air wrapped around it and cleared it entirely from between the two beings. Gavin glanced down at the torch. Not a single charcoal or ember glowed red any longer, and the flesh and bones had disintegrated into black, inky soot. The melted gold outer layer had poured down into the smallest cracks in the earth, and not a single yellow gleam was reflected in the crystals that grew along the crevices in the wall beside it. The crackles of the embers and the stone man's movements had silenced, leaving Trevor's slow, muffled breaths to contend with the silence.

"Do you want to know how to help him?" Zurrioth finally asked.

"I don't want any part of this. I never did. It's his fault we ended up like this."

"But would your friend not want to help you, if you were in his place?"

"He's not a friend; he's a co-worker."

"Really? If he was only that, you would have abandoned him a long time ago. But this is not an arguement of reason or relation. With each and every soul, Scath grows stronger. It is essential that he, and any other souls, be freed. For all of our sakes."

"What are you asking me to do, then?"

At this, Zurrioth again lingered on a bated breath before he spoke again. "That is something I cannot decide just now. I am only asking that you be willing to cooperate, no matter what the options may be. Before anything, we must talk with the head of my council. She is more experienced in telekinesis than I. There is a possibility, that if we were to search far enough into Trevor's mind, we could learn of the creature's physical whereabouts. Though in constant contact with all living things, Scath's true form has been in hiding for quite some time; and even before then, it seldom appeared as flesh."

"Then, what am I needed for?"

"Well, something happened to you, that has rarely ever happened to anyone throughout history. You were touched by Scath's shadow, but were immune to his influence. And you clearly there were no cults present to butcher you for that. Immune, and alive. We may have great need of you. Now, this is all speculation; but we are dealing with a dangerous creature. We must be cautious."

Gavin sighed, closed his eyes, and brought his knees closer to his chest. Ever since he had awoken, he could find no useful thing to say, no word of truth to reassure himself with, no sign to convince him that none of this was reality. This entire time, his body had only drifted through instinctive movements, and his conversation rashly dragged out from his hazy thoughts and realizations. And now, his exhausted logic had weakened to its core; for once, he had no grasp on his own state of existence. He had always been the first to fully grasp the depth of the situation. From engineering the maintainance of his and Thomas's carpentry sales, to managing the logging crew, and the excavation of the statues with Trevor; his was the foremost and only voice to find an answer. To construct a reason and a way. Now, he was in a foreign place with no foothold on which to reach a sensible understanding. He could finally no longer understand; and that feeling of failure grew sharper with each passing moment that he continued not to understand.  
The whites of the crystal's reflection against Zurrioth's eyes followed Gavin's arms as he curled them around his knees and offered a rest for

his forehead. He sat in silence, breathing slow, muffled breaths, staring at the moist dirt under his legs. The stone man sat in equal quietness, observing the twitching of his dirt-spattered fingers against the opposite knee.

Zurrioth continued, this time his voice lowering to a tone nearly as soft as a whisper. "Do not worry. We do not all understand everything that happens to us. Sometimes, we try so hard to know why, when there is no answer. Or there is an answer, but we are not meant to know it."

Gavin flinched and shot a frowning glance at Zurrioth. _How did he know what he was thinking?_ The stone man slowly looked away, and resumed his rambling conversation in as casual a manner as ever.

"These are things that have been said many times. Yet, we always yearn to know. It is in the very nature of everything living to be curious, even when most of the time we will never get answers. I suppose, if one understood everything, there would be little left of this life to live for. The concept of exploration; whether it be fruitful or not, is the purpose we give ourselves. The desire to know."

The rocky edges of Zurrioth's complexion suddenly broke out of their solemn state as he turned back to Gavin. "Now, that you have finished asking questions; tell me: when was the last time you have eaten? You must be famished."

Gavin gave a round of quick, hardly noticeable nods towards the stone man, as he rose on the crackling joints of his jagged legs a second time.

"I have little food here, and for that I apologize. I, myself, as you can imagine, have no need of it; but there is an abundance of fresh water that I have collected, and perhaps some spices and roots I use for experiments in alchemy. Come. This place is more expansive than it seems, there are places you can warm yourself and rest."

Zurrioth tugged Gavin to his feet, and ushered him towards another door, opposite to the one they had entered by, and equally as ornate and beautiful as the one before. Though it had not been long since he had awoken, Gavin had never shaken completely the drowsy fog of sleep from clouding his mind. As he clumsily exited the room, stumbled through the dim passage and into another chamber lit with a luminous mixture of blue and orange, he almost became deaf to Zurrioth as he talked on.

"This is my home; a visitor seeking my welcome, will always be welcomed here."

* * *

Notes:

Me while writing this chapter:

"I wonder if this will be almost as long as my second chapter that had 5,200 words..."

Me while copying and pasting into Doc Manager:

"Wow, maybe this one is at least 5,000 words."

Me looking at the word total for the chapter:

*8,900*

"EFFING LORD... Did I do all that? For one chapter?" :O

On a more serious note, I wanted to point out that this is the chapter I had been looking forward to writing, for a long time. It was more than a year ago when the image of Zurrioth in the cave, looking up at the light somehow got into my thoughts. Since then, this whole chapter has been cycled through my mind a million times, and now I can rest knowing it's been done right and it gives this fanfic so much more relevance to TT, even if all of the characters that are in person so far are still OCs. Don't worry, Trigon's appearance is less than five chapters away, and from then on he'll be a primary character.

Maybe this is just something that I can understand, but the moment I typed out Zurrioth's first line, I just felt a wierd feeling of excitement, that I was finally making what was once just a thought into a story. And thanks to the support of this story's followers, MrManInTheCorner, Eden Alice Poe, and kirkanolo, this chapter was made possible. Honestly, you guys don't know how much your reviews of this story mean to me. Thank you so much. :)

If you did not feel satisfied with the few explanations in this chapter, just wait for the next one or two; by then most of the connections will be explained.

Last thing I want to point out: the character, Zurrioth, was something I created before the story. I'm not putting myself into the story, "Zurrioth" was just the pen name I decided to use when I set up my FF account because I couldn't think of a better name. Confusing, but changing my pen name at this point will just make it even more confusing, so I might as well keep it the same. :P

Oh yeah, I haven't gotten a chance to accurately proofread this chapter, I literally just got done with it, then immediately pasted it into my stories... so eventually I'll come around to editing it.


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